


The Uninvited

by tardisjournal



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-18
Updated: 2013-04-18
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:16:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 40,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisjournal/pseuds/tardisjournal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ianto Jones has been keeping another secret: he has an identical twin, Iolo, who has been institutionalized since they were eleven. While Torchwood and the city of Cardiff are reeling from Gray's attacks, Iolo escapes, hell-bent on one thing--stealing Ianto's life. When Ianto goes missing, it's up to Jack, Gwen and Andy to figure out what's going on before it's too late.</p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
  <p>     <img/></p>
</div>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers:** S1.01--"Everything Changes", S1.04--"Cyberwoman", S1.06--"Countrycide", S1.08--"They Keep Killing Suzie", S1.13--"End of Days", S2.09--"Something Borrowed", S2.10, "From Out of the Rain", S2.12--"Fragments", S2.13--"Exit Wounds"
> 
>  **Cover art by:** [chamiletart](http://chamiletart.livejournal.com/)  
> 

**_Prologue_ **

  
After fifteen years of being locked away in the secure wing of Providence Park Psychiatric Hospital, Iolo Jones hadn't expected escape to be as easy as walking out the front door.

But it was.

He had tried to escape nineteen times since he’d been committed at the age of eleven, and had been thwarted every time, until the fateful day that terrorists attacked Cardiff.

The first time he'd tried to escape, he'd pulled away from an attendant, made a mad dash through an unlocked door--and wound trapped up in a broom closet. Not the most sophisticated of plans, he'd be the first to admit, but to be fair he was eleven years old at the time, had only been there a couple of days, and the sedatives they had given him were interfering with his ability to reason.

The last time he'd tried to escape, several months back, he had been far more successful. He had forged an ID bracelet and disguised himself as an inmate about to be released into the care of a social worker  who had never met him or the other man before. She and Iolo were nearly five miles away when the victim, knocked out and hidden in that same broom closet, came to before expected and started calling for help. Security had phoned the social worker, she had stalled for time by stopping off for lunch at McDonald's, and his short-lived trip ended when staff arrived to escort him back to the asylum. Iolo had to hand it to the social worker—she'd had quite the poker face and he'd never suspected anything was wrong until it was too late.

He had been put in Isolation for a long time after that. He had no idea for how long. Time had little meaning in the asylum, and none at all in Isolation.

When he was finally released from the cell that was smaller than the bathroom he normally had access too, Iolo claimed that he had really learned his lesson this time and had renounced all ideas of escape. His doctor had seemed skeptical, and Iolo couldn’t exactly blame him. He wouldn't have believed himself either. They were slow to restore his privileges, like television and library access, this time, but Iolo knew he’d earn them back eventually. He always had before. His doctor wasn’t stupid, but he had one fatal weakness. He believed that Iolo could change. That he could get better. That given therapy and the right meds, he _would_ get better.

That was a laugh. Iolo didn’t want to get “better”, because there was nothing wrong with him in the first place. It was the world that was fucked up. He had no intention of changing, though for the time being he'd act the part of the model patient and spew the bullshit they wanted to hear in therapy for as long as it took him to implement his next plan.

He would never, ever give trying to escape, not when his twin brother Ianto was walking around free as a bird somewhere out there, living a happy, normal life while he, the smarter, cuter, older-by-three-minutes-brother, was confined to this stagnant purgatory. He had lived most of his life—if you could even call it living, it was more like _existing--_ in Providence Park, and he knew he would die there too unless he took matters into his own hands.

And it was all Ianto's fault.

No, he’d keep trying to escape until he either succeeded or died, of that he was sure. He was in the middle of formulating a new plan, an elaborate affair that involved removing part of the ceiling in the laundry room and making his way through the facility's maze of ventilation shafts, when opportunity knocked. As opportunity is wont to do, it knocked when Iolo was least expecting it.

_No one_ was expecting the terrorist attacks that hit Cardiff and environs that evening; multiple, simultaneous explosions that rocked the city and sent everyone within fifty km into a panic. Iolo found much to admire in what the terrorists had accomplished. In a matter of minutes, the crafty bastards had toppled numerous buildings, blown up several key bridges, and shut down the Internet and all of the phone networks. There were hundreds of fatalities, thousands more were injured, and the city was brought to the brink of nuclear calamity when critical systems failed at the Turnmill nuclear power plant. There were even rumors of monstrous creatures roaming the streets. Iolo had had his suspicions the “monsters” were nothing more than the product of imagination run riot--what happened when people were suddenly deprived of their TV's and radios and stuck in the dark--for the power had gone off everywhere.

_Everywhere_.

Iolo had just been locked in his room for the evening when the first explosion went off—a dull " _thud"_ somewhere in the distance. He didn't pay it much attention, absorbed as he was in the book he had just been allowed to have back, _Fortran 95/2003 Explained (Numerical Mathematics and Scientific Computation)._ Then came another explosion, much closer, and the room went dark.

Iolo leapt to his feet, all senses on high alert. _Fortran 95/2003 Explained_ tumbled off his lap onto the floor.

The lights flickered back on at half-power, which signified that the facility’s backup generators had kicked in. Iolo sighed, then bent to retrieve his book.

_‘Power substation across town was probably vandalized again,'_ he thought. _'They really should do something about security. The neighborhood isn't what it used to be.'_

Then came another explosion, the loudest yet, from the basement directly under his feet. It went dark again, pitch-dark, and stayed that way.  Iolo froze, knowing that could only mean one thing. The backup generators were down too. That _never_ happened.

A high-pitched alarm shrieked somewhere nearby. A scream, a woman's or a child's, pierced the darkness. A man called out in a voice tight with fear, demanding to know what the hell was going on.

Iolo barely registered these sounds, for he was focused on another--the barely audible _“click”_ that signaled that the electronic lock on his door had just released.


	2. Chapter 2

The black SUV skidded to a stop and Jack boiled out of the passenger side while the engine was still running. His heart was racing, his blood was pumping, and he was up for anything—except for sitting still one minute longer. He slammed his door shut and scanned the area, peering into the near-darkness with the intensity of a hawk.  
  
“There they are!” Jack called, practically dancing with impatience. “Hurry up!”  
  
Ianto slammed his door, darted around the back of the vehicle, and the two men took off, chasing a trio of what appeared from a distance to be large men with grotesquely-shaped heads. Their scanners had picked a call to the police about “vandals wearing masks” in the area, but they both had their suspicious as to what the "vandals" really were before they'd arrived.  
  
“Weevils,” Ianto confirmed as he drew even with Jack, reflexively patting his pockets for anti-Weevil spray in a gesture that Jack knew so well. “Again. What do you suppose has got them so worked up?”  
  
“Dunno. Might be the gentrification in the area. All the construction could have flushed them out.”  
  
The two men rounded the corner and found themselves on a street that had clearly seen better days. To their right, behind a haphazard array of ropes and plastic signs proclaiming “Danger/Perygl”, was a row of decrepit Victorian row houses that were slated to be torn down. To their left was a blocks-long pile of rubble that was all that was left of houses that had already had their date with the wrecking ball. A  rusted-out car crouched by the curb nearby, all its tires gone. The only sign of life was an old man weaving his way up the left side of the street, away from them.  
  
“Where did they go?” cried Jack, head swiveling from right to left and back again.  
  
“That's a good question,” Ianto replied. “Maybe our friend there saw something?”  
  
“Hey!” Jack called. “Hey, you!”  
  
The old man didn't respond. Jack caught up to him in a few easy strides and put a hand on his shoulder.   The man turned and glared up at him, and the pungent combination of stale body odor and alcohol fumes made Jack's eyes water. If he could get drunk on second-hand alcohol, he figured he'd be half-way to buzzed right now.  
  
“Hey there,” Jack said, fixing a grin on his face. “We're looking for some friends. They got pissed and put on some monster masks, said they were going to scare tourists. Did they come this way?”  
  
The man mumbled something that Jack couldn’t quite hear.  
  
“What was that?” Jack leaned in closer. The man wriggled out of his grasp in a show of surprising agility and started edging away.  
  
Jack's adrenaline edged over into anger. He grabbed the man's shoulder again. “Hey buddy, I'm talking to you!”  
  
“That sounded like Welsh, Jack,” Ianto said, darting in front of the pair. “Let me.”  
  
Ianto murmured something Jack couldn't understand. The old man answered back, and Ianto nodded.  
  
“It's OK. He hasn't seen anything. You can let him go.”  
  
 “What did he say?”  
  
“Nothing useful, I assure you,” Ianto said, with a significant glance at Jack’s hand. Jack realized he was still holding on to the man's shoulder, and none too gently either.  He let go. The old man stumbled away from them. Jack watched him go, feeling more frustrated than ever.  
  
“I gathered that, but what did he _say_?”  
  
“It's idiomatic, it doesn't translate well. He didn't see anything, alright Jack?”  
  
Jack snorted. “Didn’t see anything? That doesn't mean much. Poor old sod is so drunk he could have missed a caravan of weevils riding by in a ticker-tape parade.”  
  
“They wouldn't have missed him though, would they?”  
  
Jack had to admit Ianto had a point. If the old man had been in the Weevils' path, there was no way he wouldn't have been brutally knocked aside or, more likely, mauled.  
  
“Good point. They must have gone to the right, then. Probably hiding in one of these old houses.” Jack gazed down the street. “They go on for several blocks. We should split up. We can cover more ground that way.”  
  
“Split up?  Are you sure that's a good idea?”  
  
“Maybe not. But we're working with limited resources, remember? We have to improvise.”  
  
Ianto flinched, and Jack realized that _“li_ _mited resources_ ” had been a poor choice of words. He felt a flicker of guilt which he quickly pushed away.  
  
With the tragic losses of Tosh and Owen after the so-called terrorist attacks on Cardiff six weeks ago, the formerly five-person Torchwood team was down to three. Add in the fact that Gwen spent as much time at the police station these days as she did at the Hub, helping to put the city back together, and that left most of the day-to-day business of Torchwood to Jack and Ianto.  
  
Ianto hadn’t complained, but it had to be exacting a toll on him. It was on Jack too. They hadn’t taken the time to properly mourn their fallen colleagues; hell, there was barely time for a shower or a hastily-eaten meal these days. But there was no time to rest--they had to go on. Getting the city back on its feet and repairing the massive damage inflicted by Jack's brother Gray, who had really been behind the attacks, was their first priority.  Jack wouldn't--couldn't--let himself rest until that was done.  
  
There wasn’t much Torchwood could do to fix the city's infrastructure, soothe the citizens reeling from their losses, or put the shattered police department back together, beyond lending them Gwen, who had shown extraordinary leadership during the crisis, to help coordinate the efforts. There were other things that Torchwood could do, however, and Jack chased down each opportunity with a vengeance.  
  
Weevil sightings had been way up in the weeks after the attacks, and the animals had been unusually aggressive, even for Weevils. Packs of them were seen roaming in populated areas they usually avoided, and reports of vicious “animal” attacks had skyrocketed. Just when it seemed like they were finally settling down, there had been three calls from this area in as many days.  
  
To add to their troubles, the Rift had been unusually unstable, opening at random intervals even the Rift Predictor couldn’t foresee, and dumping all manner of alien detritus, and sometimes the aliens themselves, throughout the city.  
  
It was enough work for ten people, and Jack supposed he really should look into hiring more staff, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it yet. Besides, there was no time for reviewing CV's or conducting interviews. No sooner did they finish cleaning up one scene--neutralizing the threats, crafting appropriate cover stories where possible and performing memory-wipes where they weren’t--than another urgent call came in. Once things had settled, and all the damage wrought by Gray had been set to rights, they would take time for themselves, Jack promised himself. But not before.  
  
Ianto was looking around and frowning, causing deep furrows to appear in his forehead. “I don’t know about this. Something seems off.”  
  
Jack’s anger flared again. They had a job to do here. The last thing he needed was for his right-hand man to be stalling.  
  
“Ianto! What's off is that there are three Weevils, possibly more, gallivanting through an area that's minutes away from a major tourist destination. We need to catch them as soon as possible. We’re splitting up. That's an order.”  
  
Ianto turned to him, eyes flashing in the streetlamp light, and Jack braced himself for a tirade. He would have welcomed one, in fact.  
  
But then Ianto looked down at his shoes, and when he spoke, he sounded more weary than angry. “Fine. I'll take this side.”  
  
“You do that. Call me if you see anything. No heroics. Don’t try to take them on yourself. Understand?”  
  
“Yes, _Sir.”_  
  
Jack watched Ianto stride off, the displeasure he'd only hinted at with the emphasis on the “Sir” evident in his hunched shoulders. Jack felt the sudden urge to call out to him, but then quashed it. What would he say, anyway?  
  
Besides, there was work to be done. Jack drew in a deep breath of cool night air and took off across the street at a jog.


	3. Chapter 3

_‘We’re splitting up. That's an order.”_  
  
Ianto had stared at Jack for a long moment, considering mutiny. Or at least further argument. He realized it wouldn’t do any good.  
  
 _'He's spoiling for a fight. If he doesn't get it from the Weevils, he'll find it somewhere else. Me, or even the old man, it doesn’t matter much to him when he’s like this. Better just to get the job done and deal with it later.”_  
  
Ianto had dropped his gaze, and with it, his objections. The old geezer was better at standing up to Jack than he was, Ianto realized with a bitter chuckle.  
  
The old man certainly had had a way with words. He had been speaking in a Northern dialect, not the Southern one Ianto had grown up with, but what despite what Ianto had told Jack it hadn’t been hard to translate. He had chosen to keep it to himself because it involved a graphic suggestion of what Jack could go do with his grandmother, and given that Jack had a hair-trigger temper these days, Ianto had decided to be discreet.  
  
Normally, they would have had a laugh over it, and Jack would have proudly added that particular phase to his impressive vocabulary of swears from all over the universe. But things hadn’t been normal since Gray had turned up. He wondered if they ever would be normal again.  
  
Ianto picked his way along the cracked, crumbling sidewalk and scanned the houses for signs of activity. Weevils were not subtle creatures. They tended to attack any obstacles in their path, living or artificial, so if they had come this way, there should be signs of their passing.  
  
The problem was that all of the houses were in such bad shape that a missing door or smashed out window didn't necessarily mean anything. There were no footprints to track. With no further information to go on, Ianto supposed that he should check the first house in the row and then work his way down the street. It was the methodical thing to do, and Ianto was nothing if not methodical.  
  
Something was still bothering him, however. His eyes kept going to a certain house in the middle of the block, though it didn’t look any different to the others. Ianto glanced across the street to see if he could see Jack, but he had disappeared.  
  
Ianto drifted closer to the house that intrigued him, stumbling a little on the broken sidewalk in front as he approached. It was the same two-story affair as the others; once a proud denizen of a fashionable street, now a sad shell of its former self.  Its bay windows had been shattered and now resembled black, sightless eyes. Its warm beige stones were now a lifeless gray. The once-bright yellow trim had faded into colorlessness.  
  
 _The once-bright yellow trim._  
  
Ianto realized with a start that he knew this house, changed as it was. It had been his grandmother’s house.  
  
Glancing down to steady his feet, he realized that he even knew this patch of sidewalk; he was familiar with it in a way only someone who had run back and forth over it and drew chalk figures on it could be. He had played on it the unseasonably warm afternoon when his family had visited his grandmother—the one and only time.  
  
 _Mam-gu Bethan._ That had been fifteen years ago, but he could still remember the way the house had smelled—a combination of fresh-baked biscuits and lemon furniture polish that had seemed like _home_ to him. It was the way a house should smell. He could still remember the way the house had sounded, the radio on at all hours, filling the house with music. Big band had been her favorite.  
  
He could remember her easy, tinkling laugh, and how generous she had been with her hugs and kisses. He had been wary of the affection at first, stiffening when she reached for him, but had quickly grown to love it. Late in the afternoon of that remarkable day, she had peppered his face with a half-dozen kisses and said that the adults needed to talk, and asked him if he would he go play outside for a bit. He had been so surprised that she'd actually _asked_ him, like he had a choice in the matter, that he had agreed immediately. He had gone out to the sidewalk with his sister Rhiannon and…  
  
Ianto shut that memory down fast and peered at the house again. He hadn’t thought about that day in years. He’d been in and out of this neighborhood twice in the last week, chasing Weevils, and hadn’t thought of it then, either. It was just one of many parts of his life, the most recent being nearly eaten by cannibals, that he had sealed off in a vault in his mind. So why had this memory emerged now?  
  
He supposed it didn’t much matter. He needed a place to start searching, and now he had one. Getting inside was as easy as stepping over a rope and slipping past the warped wooden door that hung loosely from one hinge.  
  
It was nearly pitch-black inside, and Ianto’s hand automatically went to the wall, feeling for a switch. His fingers scrabbled against the edge of a hole, then touched a tangle of wires where the outlet should have been. He jerked his hand back. He took a deep breath of the damp, musty air and then wished he hadn’t, picturing all of the varieties of mold indigenous to the area. He fished his torch out of his pocket.  
  
‘ _OK. Steady on,’_ he told himself, and turned it on.  
  
It was hard to reconcile the memory of his grandmother’s cozy lounge with the abandoned shell of a room in front of him. The hardwood floors that shone so brightly in his mind’s eye were warped and filthy. The fireplace was filled with crisps packets, sweets wrappers and a variety of cans and bottles. All manner of detritus, including bits of clothing, old newspapers, and incongruously, a single rollerblade, were scattered about.  
  
He shone his light into each corner of the room. In one, the floor looked scorched, as if someone had lit a fire there.  
  
 _‘Why didn’t they just use the fireplace?’_ he mused.  
  
Ianto picked his way through the room, wincing when his foot struck a large can and it clattered loudly across the floor. A few steps later, his of circle of torchlight highlighted not one but two used condoms. Ianto pulled a face and stepped over them.  
  
At the far end of the room he paused and let the light play across the walls. The wallpaper, where it wasn’t hanging in tatters, was as dingy and non-nondescript as the rest of the place. On a whim Ianto reached out and tugged on one of the hanging pieces. Underneath was a faded version of a pattern he remembered, an ornate spray of pink roses against a yellow, blue and gold background, and he felt a lump rise in his throat. He let the piece fall and moved quickly out of the room.  
  
 _‘Stop dawdling,_ ’ he chided himself mentally, in a voice that sounded like Jack’s.  
  
The stairs to the basement were off the next room, and that was the first place he should check. Weevils preferred damp, enclosed spaces to go to ground in. Sewers were their favorite, but when they couldn’t get them, the basements of uninhabited buildings were their second choice.  
  
A muffled “thump” came from below, as if confirming his theory. Ianto held his breath and listened. When there were no further sounds forthcoming, he switched his torch to his left hand, drew his firearm with his right, and started easing his way through the next room toward the stairs.  
  
The room that had once been the dining room was in similar condition to the lounge. Ianto stepped on something that squished under his shoe and made an unpleasant “squelching” noise, but kept going.  
  
The basement door was gone. Ianto flattened himself against the wall next to the opening and leaned out just enough to shine a beam of light down into it.  
  
The wooden staircase was mostly intact, but it looked so rickety and the smell of rotting wood was so strong Ianto suspected it could crumble at any minute. It seemed unlikely that three grown Weevils could have used it without it collapsing. He flicked the light past it, to the floor, and saw a pile of rubbish, or perhaps construction materials, near the stairs. The range of the light didn’t extend much past that.  
  
It was unlikely the Weevils had come this way, but not impossible. He needed to make sure. He had to see the entire basement. Ianto slid into the doorway and cautiously placed his foot on the first step. It held. So did the second, but he was still too high up to see the basement proper.  
  
The third step was missing. He was just stretching his right foot out to test the weight of the fourth when he heard footsteps behind him. He jerked his foot back and swiveled, gun and light coming up together, but whoever was behind him was faster. Ianto was knocked off-balance when the two-by-four struck him hard across the shoulders.  
  
He cried out as he tumbled down the stairs.


	4. Chapter 4

Jack was just exiting his first house when a series of high-pitched barks caught his attention. He followed the noise around to a postage stamp-sized back yard. Backed up against the wall was a dark-colored terrier, bravely facing up to a snarling Weevil. The other Weevils were nowhere in sight.  
  
The dog, a stray going by the ragged coat and skinny frame, was putting on a good show, but the Weevil was fifteen times its size and probably ate dogs for breakfast. Jack didn't much like its chances.  
  
“Hey buddy!” he called. “Why don't you pick on somebody your own size?”  
  
The Weevil spun around and opened its mouth wide, revealing an array of oversized choppers to go with its oversized head, and let out a guttural roar.  
  
“Really? You kiss your mother with that mouth?”  
  
The Weevil charged Jack, moving with surprising agility for something so large. It lunged the last few feet, its massive hands reaching for Jack's neck, mouth stretched wide. Jack dodged and the Weevil hurtled past, so close he could smell the stench of rotting meat on its breath. It turned and came back—and Jack's fist connected with the flattened area where its nose would have been, had it been human. The Weevil howled and scrabbled at Jack's shoulders in an effort to remain upright.  
  
“Hey, watch the coat! If you get dirt on it Ianto'll kill me!”  
  
Jack punched the Weevil in the stomach and when it doubled over, sprayed in the face with the Weevil spray. The Weevil collapsed. Jack kicked it with his boot.  
  
“You mess with dogs, you mess with me,” Jack told it. “So where are your frien... _aggh!_ ”  
  
Two more Weevils came hurtling out of the night, one from each side. Jack dove forward over the body of the unconscious Weevil, rolled, and came up in a crouch, wielding his torch like a club in one hand  and brandishing the spray in the other. His lips stretched into a wide grin.  
  
“Come on, who's first?”  
  
As it turned out, they both were.  
  
  
The ensuing fight was an exhilarating, knockdown brawl- _cum_ -wrestling match that Jack came out of looking decidedly the worse for wear. But at least he was ambulatory, which was more than he could say for the Weevils.  
  
After the third Weevil had succumbed to combination of several blows to the head with the flashlight and a snoot-full of spray, Jack staggered to his feet, all senses on high alert, in case more company was coming. But all was quiet. Even the dog had fled.  
  
Jack threw his head back and laughed, feeling giddy with victory, and possibly punch-drunk from the blow to the head he'd taken when a Weevil had slammed him into the ground. He had barely registered it at the time, but now it was beginning to throb. The edges of his vision were a little blurry, and there was a distinct possibility he was concussed. He didn't care. It was the best he'd felt all day.  
  
Jack raked a hand through his hair, shoving his fringe out of his eyes and letting his fingertips explore the area above his ear. They came away sticky with blood. He touched the area again, applying a bit more pressure, and flinched. There was a hell of an egg forming on his skull.  
  
As Jack's adrenaline began to ebb, the pleasant light-headedness became a not-so-pleasant dizziness, and he half-sat, half-collapsed onto the ground.  
  
' _Just need to rest a moment.''_ He'd take a quick inventory of the damage, which he could do just as well sitting down as standing up, and be on his way.  
  
Jack wiped his hands in the grass and then held them up to examine them. They were covered with cuts and scratches—no surprise there. His nose was throbbing and bleeding slightly, but not, as far as he could tell by poking at with his fingertips, broken. One eye was swollen nearly shut, and there was a deep cut on his cheek that made that side of his face feel like it was on fire.  
  
Of a bigger concern was the ragged hole in his khakis where one of the creatures had chomped down, and the large chunk of flesh that it had bitten off and swallowed whole.The thought made him a little queasy, and decided he didn't want to see just how big a piece it had been yet. There was a first-aid kit in the SUV—he'd take care of when he got back. Besides, it would heal soon, regardless of what he did or didn't do.  
  
Jack pushed up to a standing position and brushed himself off, then frowned. His greatcoat was a mess. It was covered in dirt and mud from where he'd rolled on the ground, soaked with blood in spots, and torn in others. Ianto was going have his head.  
  
Ianto! Jack realized with a start he hadn't thought of his teammate since they'd split up. He hadn't even tried to call for backup, as he'd instructed Ianto to do.  
  
 _'No heroics.'_  
  
Well, this was different. He was immortal and could afford to play the hero. Ianto couldn't.  
  
Jack reached up to activate his Bluetooth earpiece and realized that it was missing.  
  
 _'Must have gotten knocked off in the fight. I'd better find it or he'll have my head for that too.'_ Jack smiled fondly at as he recalled the last conversation they'd had regarding his tendency to go through headsets “like water.”  
  
“Those are custom-made, you know, and they're not cheap,” Ianto had said, his hands on his hips and looking adorably agitated. “I don't mind buying a new one if there's a genuine accident but really Jack, that's the second time this month that you've needed a replacement because you _sat on it_.”  
  
Jack tried to turn the torch back on to aid in the search but it wasn't working. No surprise there.  
  
 _'Thing's not really meant to be a club,_ ' he observed. _'Though it sure came through tonight.'_  
  
He was crouched down, peering at the ground and running his hands through some dead grass, when he heard the sound of car engine start up from across the street. The roar was loud in the night. He listened, head cocked, but didn't hear anything else out of the ordinary, so went back to searching. He found his earpiece in a patch of weeds several meters from where the unconscious Weevils lay.  
  
 _'There it is! I was just about to give up and endure the lecture.'_ He slipped it over his ear and pressed the button.  
  
“Ianto! Success! I've captured the three little pigs but I'll need help moving them to the brick house. Get the SUV and bring it around to the alley.”  
  
A crackle of static was the only reply.  
  
“Ianto?”  
  
Nothing.  
  
Jack frowned, removed the earpiece and and peered at it as if just by looking at it he could tell what was wrong, and then put it back on.  
  
“Ianto! Answer me!”  
  
An explosion cracked through the night, louder than a thunder clap. It was so loud in the earpiece that Jack ripped it off. But it was nearly as loud outside. And it was coming from across the street. Right where he'd left...  
  
“Ianto!”  
  
Jack barreled around the corner just in time to see the house in the middle of the block collapse in itself like a house of cards.


	5. Chapter 5

Though it was just past midnight, the entire block was lit up brighter than day.  
  
The police had arrived within minutes of Captain Harkness's frantic call to Gwen and were now swarming over the area, looking for the clues as to why the house had collapsed and any sign of the missing Ianto Jones. The construction workers had arrived next and were methodically removing debris and sorting it into piles. Paramedics stood by in case there was someone to rescue.  
  
Police Sergeant Andy Davidson surveyed the scene and sighed. It was all they could do, and it didn't seem like enough. When he'd arrived, he'd found Jack physically pulling bricks and two-by-fours from the massive pile of rubble himself, and it wasn't until the construction company had arrived with its heavy equipment that the man had allowed himself to be persuaded to stand down for a while.  
  
He was currently seated in the back of his SUV with his long legs sticking out the passenger door, murmuring with Gwen, who was crouched near him. He looked on the verge of collapse himself, but, interestingly enough, not as bad as he had when Andy had first arrived. Andy had taken one look at Jack's bruised and bloody face and torn clothing and assumed he had been caught in the cave-in too, but Jack had assured him that wasn't so.  
  
Jack's clothes were still torn and bloody, but his face didn't look like he'd just gone twelve rounds with Mike Tyson anymore. Maybe like six, and then he'd won in a KO. Odd. Andy filed it away under things to think about later. For now, there was the matter of Jack and Gwen's missing colleague to deal with.  
  
Andy fished two bottles of water from a cooler supplied by the construction company, walked over to the SUV, and offered them to the Torchwood team.  
  
“If he's under there, we'll find him,” Andy said with a reassuring smile at Gwen. “But tell me again why you're sure that he is, Jack? After all, you didn't actually see him go into the house.”  
  
Jack took a bottle but made no move to open it. “I told  you. He had orders to check the houses on this side of the street for Weevils. I saw him walking toward them. He wouldn't have gone anywhere else without telling me.”  
  
“It's possible he found the Weevils and gave chase. He could have been well away when this happened,” Andy pointed out.  
  
Jack shook his head. “He would have called for back-up. He knows not to tackle them alone.”  
  
“Er,” Andy wasn't sure how to put this, but he needed to consider all possibilities. “Supposing they... found him? He may have not had a chance to call.”  
  
 _'Great, you just told him that his colleague might be ripped to shreds instead of crushed under rubble. Very reassuring, Davidson,'_ Andy thought. Sometimes he hated his job.  
  
“The Weevils were out of the picture,” Jack said firmly. “I took care of them.”  
  
Andy raised an eyebrow, but didn't inquire further. None of his officers had called in a discovery of strange creatures, which meant Jack had to have hidden them, or more likely, stuffed them in the back of his SUV, before the police arrived.  
  
That wasn't his business either. Though he was one of the few non-Torchwood personnel allowed in on the secret of the existence of the alien Weevils, catching and neutralizing them remained strictly Torchwood's domain.  
  
When he'd heard they were the reasons the pair had been in this deserted neighborhood, his first thought was that Ianto had been ambushed and was lying nearby somewhere, unable to call for help. He really hoped that wasn't what had happened—he'd seen enough Weevil attacks in the last six weeks to last a lifetime and he knew they were messy, brutal affairs.  But then again, the thought of his fellow Welshman trapped under all that debris, injured and slowly suffocating--or already dead--was worse, somehow.  
  
Perhaps Ianto and Jack had just gotten their signals crossed. Perhaps Ianto had misunderstood his orders, or defied them for some reason, and was off having a coffee somewhere. That too was a possibility, if a remote one, and every possibility needed to be checked out.  
  
“We'll leave no stone unturned, Jack. Literally. You know that. But one of you should go back to the Hub in case he calls or turns up there.”  
  
Andy held up a hand before Jack could interrupt. “I know you think it's impossible that he'd do that. But you'd be surprised at how many missing persons turn up at home like nothing happened, wondering what all the fuss is about.”  
  
“He's not missing,” Jack replied tightly. “I _told_ you...”  
  
“I'll go,” cut in Gwen before Jack could wind himself up further. “He's right. Someone should be there.”  
  
“Thank you, Gwen,” said Andy.  
  
Gwen leaned over and hugged Jack, then rose to her feet.  
  
“Call me if you find anything, yeah?” Gwen said. Her voice wavered on the last syllable and Andy realized that despite her calm demeanor, she was frightened. Hell, he was too.  
  
“Will do,” Andy replied.  
  
“Gwen?” Jack stuck his hand out, and when Gwen took it, squeezed it hard. “Thanks.”  
  
“We'll get him back, Jack,” she asserted, then turned and strode off.  
  
“I know,” Jack said, staring off into the distance at the slowly-diminishing pile of rubble. “I'm not leaving here until we do.”


	6. Chapter 6

_'Cold. It's so cold'._

It was around him, clinging to him. What was going on? Had the heat in his flat gone out again?

The floor was especially cold. He could feel it seeping through his clothes, chilling his thigh and his hip where they pressed against the floor, and why was he lying on the floor, anyway?

Ianto opened his eyes and saw nothing. It was pitch-black. That was odd. Nowhere he went was pitch-black at night—not the Hub, where LEDs from various equipment blinked twenty-four hours a day; not his flat, where the streetlights bled through no matter how tightly he closed the curtains; not even Jack's windowless bunker, because he'd grown tired of stubbing his toes and installed a nightlight.

Ianto closed his eyes, counted to three, and then opened them again. Nothing.

_'Where am I?_ '

He tried to move his arms to push himself off the floor, and discovered that he couldn't. They were stuck fast behind him.

Awareness of the rest of his body flooded him then. It wasn't only his arms. His legs were also stuck. He could bend and straighten them but his ankles were caught on something. As he wriggled about,  his body came alive with pain. It seemed like every muscle was stiff and aching, and his shoulder throbbed.

Ianto fought down a rising surge of panic and forced himself to lie still. He'd been trained for this sort of thing—whatever it was.

_'Observe. Analyze. Get all the data you can before you act. Above all, don't panic.'_

OK, he could do that. Data. What was the last thing he remembered?

_He was in a house, his grandmother's house. There were rickety stairs and he was falling down them, the floor rushing up sickeningly fast._

So there had been an accident, then. He must be lying at the bottom of the stairs now, tangled in debris. He had dropped his torch in the fall and it had broken--that explained the darkness. Well, that was an unfortunate turn of events, but it could have been worse. Jack knew where he was. Jack would find him soon and everything would be OK. He just needed to stay calm.

Ianto tried to take a deep breath and realized that his mouth was taped shut.

_'Oh, Duw!_ '

That changed everything. Ianto fought the panicked impulse to suck in as much air as he could though his nose. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then repeated the process before he let himself consider the implications.

He hands and ankles weren't stuck, they were bound. Probably with the same tape holding his mouth shut, he decided, after twisting his wrists experimentally. He hadn't been in accident, he had been ambushed. At that thought, another memory slotted into place.

_A noise behind him, creaking floorboards. He'd half-turned, seen a shadowy figure. There was a blur of motion and sharp pain had blossomed in his shoulder. He'd lost his balance and fell. There hadn't even been time to call out._

So he'd been attacked. But by whom? Squatters, maybe. Or someone else--teenagers, drug dealers?--who had been hiding out in the house. He'd surprised them when he'd blundered in, and they wanted him out of the way. But why tie him up, then? He'd already been unconscious. They could have just fled. It seemed like a lot of trouble to go through just to avoid detection.

Another possibility, a darker one, was forming in his mind. He could have been kidnapped. But who would do such a thing?

Who indeed? A better question was, who wouldn't? Torchwood in general, and Jack in particular, had a lot of enemies. There were literally universes of suspects to pick from. Not to mention the home-grown crazies. Cardiff had a number of them as well.

Not six months ago they'd been called in to investigate a series of bizarre murders committed by an unbalanced uni student who claimed to be getting messages from “God's Magic Eight Ball”.  Torchwood had confiscated the Magic Eight Ball, which hadn't been receiving messages from God at all but an alien prankster light-years away with a nasty sense of humor.  The student had not taken kindly to being separated from the device and had sworn he'd get revenge on Torchwood if  it was “the last thing he did.” They'd Retconned the student, but he was just one of many who had sworn to get even. It was only a matter of time before one of them beat the odds and the Retcon.

So, given who Ianto was and who he worked for, kidnapping was a definite possibility. But “who” was going to be hard to figure without anything else to do on. It might be better to put that aside for the moment and focus on the “where”.

His initial theory that he was still in the house didn't seem likely. It was the first place Jack would look, and someone who had taken him would know that. Since he wasn't already dead, they needed him for some reason. They would keep him well-hidden until they'd got what they wanted.

Another deep breath confirmed this theory. The air in the old house had been damp and moldy; the air in the basement especially so. This air was cooler, drier, and contained a hint of metal. It seemed familiar, somehow. If only his head wasn't pounding so much, he might be able place it. But at the moment, his recall was failing him.

Ianto shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position, and groaned.

_'Everything aches. My_ hair _aches. And I'm so thirsty. How long has it been, anyway?_ '

He tried to remain alert, ready for anything, but even the simple act of thinking things through had exhausted him. He let his eyes fall shut—there was nothing to see in the darkness, anyway.

Whatever was going to happen, he hoped it would happen soon.


	7. Chapter 7

Jack stared down into the crater where the old house had been in disbelief. Nearly all of the debris had been cleared away and placed in untidy mounds in the backyard and the street, and he could see clear to the basement floor. There was no one there.

And he had been so sure that Ianto had been in the house.

“Cheer up, mate,” Andy said through a jaw-cracking yawn. They had worked through the night and the sun was now up, though they had been too distracted to enjoy the sunrise. “This is now officially a missing-persons case rather than a search-and-rescue. That's good news!”

It didn't feel that way to Jack. Something was wrong here. He could feel it.

“This isn't Ianto. He wouldn't just disappear without a word. Where the hell _is he_?” Jack scrubbed a hand across his face. Andy placed a comforting hand on his arm.

“Look, we've got our best officers combing the neighborhood. I've sent for a tracking dog but it's coming from Cwmbran so it'll take a bit. Why don't you go home, get some rest, and I'll call you when...”

Jack was only been half-listening; it wasn't the first time they'd had that conversation.  He was in the process of shaking Andy's hand off him when something in the crater had caught his eye.

“What's that?”

“What's what?”

“That!” Jack dashed toward the hole, and, seeing no easy way down, leapt straight into it. He landed about half-way down and slid the last meter. A small avalanche of debris cascaded after him.

“Jack, wait!” Andy shouted, while another person yelled, “Sir! You're not authorized to...” but Jack ignored them both. He scrambled over a pile of rocks and scooped up the object that had caught his eye.

It was a plastic tube, about the length of his little finger and twice as thick, that curved into a “C” at one end. It was covered with dust and chipped in places, but still easily recognizable as a Bluetooth earpiece.

Ianto's earpiece.

Jack's hand closed tightly around it as emotion surged inside him.

“So you _were_ here,” Jack whispered. “I knew it. But where did you go?”

He spun around in a circle, getting his bearings, then clambered back out of the hole and raced to the corner where he'd left the SUV.

\---- ---- ---- ----

Andy was still staring at the retreating back of the Captain when a young officer approached him.

“Sergeant Davidson? Should I go after him?”

“No,” Andy decided. “Leave him be.” He didn't have the authority to order the man back—no one did, save the Queen herself, as he understood it. And he knew the Captain well enough to suspect that even Her Majesty couldn't rein him in if he didn't want to be reined.

“I'll let Cooper know he's left the scene,” Andy said. “She'll keep an eye on him.” It was probably too much to hope that Jack would go quietly back to his headquarters, but Andy did anyway.

\---- ---- ---- ----

Jack drove for what seemed like hours (though it had probably been less than two) back and forth through the streets of Cardiff, scanning the streets, sidewalks and passers-by for anything that might have drawn Ianto away from the block where he'd left him, or otherwise had something to do with his disappearance. At first the streets were nearly empty but as it grew later the volume of cars had increased, forcing Jack to stick to the side streets lest he be caught in a jam. He had placed Ianto's earpiece on the dash in front of him and he touched it reverently from time to time. He knew he probably looked crazy, but it made him feel better.

_'I'll find you.'_

He wasn't sure what he was looking for, only that he'd recognize it when he found it. Besides, driving was therapeutic for him. The police were doing everything they could, and Gwen was back at the Hub checking all their usual sources--security-camera footage, hospital admissions and transportation centers--so there wasn't much else for him to do anyway.

She had called to report the bad news that there was no sign of Ianto at the Hub and the slightly better news that according to their sensors there had been no negative Rift spikes, so at least he hadn't been taken that way. Shortly after that she had called back to report that the police had searched Ianto's flat and found nothing amiss. There was nothing else to do but wait.

Jack was terrible at waiting. So he drove. And drove.


	8. Chapter 8

_'What the hell was Ianto's boss—no, it was “Jack”, he had to remember to call him “Jack”—doing?_ '  
  
Iolo had been in position since sunrise, crouched in the bushes like a stalker, watching the driveway that lead to the garage where they parked their SUV.  The garage was a towering, multistory affair that saw a lot of daily traffic through the main entrance, but access to the underground level was restricted and Iolo had only ever seen Jack, Ianto and on one occasion the woman, Gwen, drive into it. Iolo had never been past the security door, but he assumed there was a direct passage from the garage to their base of operations, since everyone who went in that way stayed in.  It would be his way in too—assuming Jack got his arse in the SUV and returned the way he was supposed to.  
  
Waiting would be easier if he wasn't in so much pain, but the pain—or at least the wounds that were causing it—were a necessary part of the plan. Giving himself the wounds hadn't been nearly as difficult as sitting here enduring the relentless throbbing and annoying bleeding with nothing to distract him. Iolo shifted position and winced as the movement caused the tatters of Ianto's shirt to scrape across the multiple burns on his chest.  
  
Iolo had discovered a few hours ago that Ianto sported a surprising collection of faint, rippled scars across his chest and down one side, likely obtained when he had escaped the terrorist bombing of Canary Wharf back in 2007. The news that he was one of only twenty-seven people that had survived that debacle had been all over the Internet if you knew where to look, Iolo had recently discovered to his delight, along with a helpful photo, but there had been no mention of any injuries.  
  
 _'Imagine if the bloody idiot had died then.'_  
  
Just thinking about how fate could have cheated him out of his revenge made Iolo angry; the fact that it hadn't was clearly a sign that he was on the right path.  
  
Iolo had cut his hair and shaped his sideburns to resemble Ianto's, but as he'd stared down at the unconscious, stripped body of his brother, he realized the only way he could quickly and effectively cover the absence of similar scars on his own body was by burning himself with an acetylene torch. So that's exactly what he did.  
  
He'd been prepared for the likelihood that Ianto would have acquired some damage over the years that he'd have to account for, which was why he had the torch in the first place. Newly acquired burns covered a multitude of sins. He just hadn't expected there to be so _many._ He'd done it so quickly--j _ust like ripping off a plaster—_ it hadn't hurt nearly as much as he'd expected. At first. But over time the pain had steadily increased until his whole chest felt like it was on fire. Which, he supposed, it was.  
  
It was another reason to hate Ianto. He would get his, though. Oh  yes. In fact, he already was.  
  
Iolo smiled at the memory of his brother, now locked up and completely powerless, the way _he_ had been locked up and powerless all these years. Iolo had waited a long, long time for payback, and now it had begun. He was off to a good start indeed--he just needed to be a little more patient. What was a few more minutes—even hours—of waiting compared to the fifteen years he'd spent locked up? What was a little physical pain now compared to the years of mental anguish he'd endured in that place?  
  
Nothing, that was what.  
  
Iolo sat down gingerly, tugged the ruins of Ianto's suit jacket around himself, and prepared to wait some more.  
  
\---- ---- ---- ----  
  
Andy was wondering if he should have taken his own advice and gone to rest somewhere, if even in the back of a patrol car, when the tracking dog and its handler finally showed up. He certainly would have been entitled to a quick kip--hell, he would have been entitled to turn things over to another officer and go home, as his shift had long since ended.  
  
He couldn't leave, though. Not until they had a lead on what had happened to Ianto. He owed it to Gwen, with whom he'd had been friends for years (and if he were honest with himself, still had a bit of a crush on)  and he owed it to Torchwood. Their expertise had been invaluable during and after the recent spate of terrorist attacks, and it didn't feel right to turn his back on them now.  
  
 _'Just a half-an-hour longer',_ he told himself to keep his spirits up, then said the same thing the next time a half hour rolled around. Eventually he wasn't fooling even himself, so he changed it to, ' _Just until they clear the rubble'._ Then it was _'just until every officer patrolling the area has checked in'._ That became ' _just until the dog arrives.'_  
  
Thank goodness the dog, a massive black-and-brown German Shepherd that went by the unlikely moniker of “Princess”, and its handler, Kavanaugh, a gruff Irishman who had been on the force for as long as Andy had been alive, had finally shown up. He was running out ways to motivate himself.  
  
No sooner had Princess been offered one of the Ianto's sweatshirts (donated by Jack from the boot of the SUV) than she took off, Kavanaugh in tow. She sniffed her way toward the giant hole in the ground and then stopped abruptly at the edge. Andy half-expected her to jump down inside like Jack had done, but she began to circle around it instead. About half-way around she stopped and gave a short, sharp bark, then began to lead her handler away, picking her way among the mounds of debris that littered what had once been the back yard.  
  
Andy followed, dialing his mobile as he went. “Gwen, Kavanaugh and Princess are here, and it looks like they've got something. I'll let you know more as soon as I can.”  
  
The dog paused in the alley outside the house and barked again. Then she froze, her ears pointed up and her tail half-way down, and looked at Kavanaugh expectantly.  
  
“He was here, in the alley,” Kavanaugh confirmed. “And then he left the scene.”  
  
“How can you be sure? Maybe he entered the house through the back and went out the front. There were no eyewitnesses, after all.”  
  
Kavanaugh snorted. “Don't need any eyewitnesses. Princess is trained to follow the freshest scent. I can't be sure which door your guy went in, but he definitely went out this way.”  
  
“Good to know. Now where do we go?"  
  
“Ah, that's harder to tell, because he got into a vehicle at that point.”  
  
“How can you be sure?”  
  
Kavanaugh looked at him like he had suddenly spouted two heads.  
  
“Because if he were on foot, or a bike, we'd still be following him, a' course.”  
  
“Of course,” Andy echoed, trying to wrap his mind around this new information.  
  
“And that's not all. Your guy was under stress when he left. Injured, most like. See Princess's body language? If he'd walked away hale and hearty, her tail'd be pointing skyward. But it's not. It's possible he was even unconscious  and someone else moved him. We've seen it before, haven't we, Princess?”  
  
 _'Dammit,'_ Andy thought. He realized he'd been holding onto the hope that Ianto had somehow escaped unscathed.  
  
“Any idea which way they went?”  
  
“Going by the direction the Princess is facing, they headed Northeast.”  
  
“Northeast. That's helpful. Any idea what kind of vehicle?”  
  
Kavanaugh gave him a sour look “That's not my area of expertise.”  
  
“Right, of course not. Sorry, bit of a long night.” Andy fished his radio out of his windbreaker and switched it on.  
  
“Constable Bateman, get word out that our missing person is suspected to be heading Northeast in a vehicle. It's possible he's been abducted as well, so have all officers keep their eyes out for anything suspicious. And we need a thorough search of the alley. I know you checked it already but check it again. We're looking for evidence from the vehicle—anything that might tell us make or model.”  
  
He switched off the radio and then pulled his phone out of his pocket to call Gwen. It wasn't much of a lead, but it was something.  
  
\---- ---- ---- ----  
  
Jack finally conceded defeat. He wasn't going to find Ianto this way, and the night's exertions were finally catching up with him. He didn't need to sleep, even now, but his body was working hard to repair itself and using so much energy that it was starting to affect his concentration. After he was jolted into awareness by a symphony of angry horns going off, he realized it was affecting his reaction time as well; he'd just sailed through a red light he'd thought he had plenty of time to make.  
  
He took the turn that lead to the Hub's garage, figuring he'd better get off the road before he hit another car, or perhaps a pedestri...  
  
As if summoned by his thoughts, a figure stumbled off the sidewalk and careened right in front of him. Jack slammed on the brakes and jammed the wheel hard to the right. The SUV spun forty-five degrees before it skidded to a stop that left him facing the sidewalk.  
  
Mercifully, the sickening “thump” that he had been expecting hadn't come, but he couldn't see the pedestrian anymore, either.  
  
Jack leapt from the SUV, ran around the side and stared at the crumpled figure lying not a foot from his back tire.  He was in terrible shape. His clothes were rags, there was blood everywhere, and his left arm was bent at an awkward angle. He also looked like...  
  
“Ianto?!?”  
  
It couldn't be. That slumped, bloody body wearing the ragged remains of a suit _(dark gray worsted-wool with a subtle pinstripe, Jack's favorite)_ couldn't be Ianto. Jack just thought it was because Ianto was on his mind. This was some other unfortunate soul who just happened to resemble him.  
  
 _Right down to the jagged cut over his eye he'd gotten a couple of days ago that Jack had stitched up? The one he must have done a lousy job at because it was open and bleeding again?_  
  
Jack dropped to his knees.  
  
“Ianto?”  
  
Jack touched the side of the man's face, the only part of that didn't seem bruised or bloody.  
  
“It's Jack. Can you hear me?”  
  
The man opened his eyes and, though they were clouded by pain, they were the same shade of blue-grey that Jack had dreamed of more often than he'd ever admit. He exhaled properly for the first time in hours.  
  
“Hey there,” Jack breathed. “I've been looking everywhere for you.”  
  
Ianto licked his lips and his tongue came away covered with blood. He looked up at Jack with wide, frightened eyes.  
  
“Shh, it's OK. Don't try to speak.”  
  
Jack pressed the button on his comm link.  
  
“Gwen! I've got him. We're outside, just behind the garage. Bring the stretcher.  He's injured. We've got to get him inside, fast!”  
  
He broke the connection before she could reply, because Ianto was trying to sit up.  
  
“Not so fast, you,” Jack said, putting one arm under him and pressing him back with the other. “Let me take care of this.”  
  
“I... I'm sorry, Sir,” Ianto mumbled, his voice a hoarse shadow of its usual resonant baritone.  
  
“Sorry?  Nonsense. You have nothing to be sorry for.”  
  
 _'Me on the other hand..._ '  
  
“I do. I couldn't find the Weevils. And then the sk... sky fell in.”  
  
Ianto closed his eyes and went limp against Jack's arm.  
  
Jack hit the button on his comm so hard it hurt his ear.  
  
“Gwen, hurry!”


	9. Chapter 9

Andy spread a well-worn map across the bonnet of his car and double-checked to make sure they were making the best use of the few officers they had. There were never enough for an operation this big, it seemed.  
  
“We're especially interested in points northeast," he was saying to Constable Bateman, when his phone started vibrating. “Hang on a moment, will you? Hello, Gwen?”  
  
“We found him Andy, we found him!” Gwen was speaking so rapidly he could barely make out what she was saying.  
  
“Well, that's the best news I've had all night! Is he all right?”  
  
“He's a bit banged up but we're dealing with it. Jack found him behind the Hub. Seems like he got injured and wandered back there. You can call off the search now. Thanks for everything, Andy. I have to go!”  
  
Andy found himself listening to a dial tone. He returned the phone to his pocket.  
  
The Hub? That was interesting. It was southwest of his current location, not northeast. It was possible that Ianto had started off going northeast and then doubled back, he supposed. But how? Especially if he was injured? He would have had to have help.  
  
If a friend or a Good Samaritan had picked him up, surely they wouldn't have just left him in the road if he were "banged up." It was starting to look likely that Ianto had been kidnapped. But what kidnapper would go to all the trouble of abducting the man only to dump him outside his own Hub?  
  
Perhaps he had got there under his own steam, after all. “Wandered”, Gwen had said. Not “driven”. But if Ianto had been “wandering” around on foot, why had Princess not picked up his scent?  
  
None of it made sense.  
  
Still, Ianto was found, that was the good news. The details would undoubtedly come out when he could be questioned.  
  
 _If_ he could be questioned, Andy thought ruefully. Torchwood tended to keep itself to itself. If there was something more going on here besides an unfortunate accident involving a dilapidated old house and an injured trespasser, Andy knew he might never find out the truth. _Especially_ if there was something more going on. Torchwood only involved the police when they had to, and only shared as much information as suited _them_. Now that Ianto was back, they didn't need the police anymore and Andy was betting that he wouldn't hear any more about the matter.  
  
That's the way it had always been. Didn't mean he had to like it.  
  
Andy sighed and picked up his radio to call Bateman.  
  
\---- ---- ---- ----  
  
“No, no, no,” the Welshman protested, struggling to sit up despite Jack and Gwen's attempts to get him to stay down.  
  
“ _Yes_ , Ianto,” said Jack, pressing gently but firmly on Ianto's bare chest, trying to get him back into position on the autopsy table.  
  
“It's OK love, this will take the pain away,” Gwen said, holding the needle she had been preparing out of reach of Ianto's flailing right arm. The left had been splinted by Jack and now rested against Ianto's chest in a sling. The arm really needed a cast, but Jack intended to dig out the bone-knitting device he knew they had somewhere, as soon as Ianto settled down. The splint only had to hold until then.  
  
“I don't want it,” Ianto insisted.  
  
“Ianto, you know how I admire your stoicism, but now is no time for the stiff upper lip. You're covered in burns that are going to feel worse before they get better and you've got cuts in several places that are going to require stitches. I can't do it properly if you're thrashing around,” Jack said.  
  
“I'll stop thrashing around if you promise you won't dose me with _that.”_  
  
Jack and Gwen exchanged a glance.  
  
“Is he always like this when he's hurt?” Gwen asked in exasperation.  
  
Jack bit down a sharp retort, realizing it was a fair question. She'd never been tasked with Ianto's care when he'd been this badly injured before, and it had to be a bit odd to see the normally snarky but placid Welshman resist them like this. Jack, however, knew it wasn't as out of the ordinary as it seemed. Ianto had certain medical _issues_ that he could become quite adamant about.  
  
Things had been so much easier when he'd been unconscious. Despite the fact that he'd been a dead weight, the two of them had managed to maneuver him into the Hub and remove the bloody remains of his suit (Gwen discreetly averting her eyes while Jack covered Ianto's hips with a towel) without incident.   
  
Jack had sucked in his breath when the full state of him came into view. What the cannibals had done to him was Amateur Hour compared to this. The explosion at the house had caused massive burns on his chest, various cuts and contusions all over his body, and a knock on the head not dissimilar to the one Jack had experienced earlier, with a comparable lump rising fast, as well as the broken forearm.  
  
Jack had uttered several choice oaths directed at the construction company, whose shoddy workmanship in preparing the house for demotion he was currently blaming for the accident, and then, with Gwen's aid, began the process of administering first-aid. He had successfully dressed multiple wounds and had just splinted the arm when Ianto had suddenly came to, ranting and raving and full of adrenaline-fueled energy.  
  
Jack had nodded for Gwen to ready the needle of painkiller, which he hadn't wanted to administer while Ianto was still unconscious. But giving it to the patient was proving more difficult than expected. Jack could well understand Gwen's frustration. Every time Ianto moved, his bandages shifted and abused flesh got tugged in a way that made Jack wince.  
  
“No, usually he's a good patient,” Jack answered. “Even for Owen. But he has _thing_ about strong painkillers. Sedatives too. He never takes them if he didn't have to. Says he hates being of control.”  
  
“ _He'_ s right here, and he still does. So if you'll kindly point that needle elsewhere...” Ianto glared at Gwen, and his beat-up face looked so fearsome Gwen actually took a step back.  
  
“Stop that! You making yourself bleed again,” Jack said, grabbing some bandages and pressing them to a nasty abrasion on Ianto's stomach.  
  
“Sorry, Ianto,” Gwen said. “We're just trying to help.”  
  
“I'll be _fine,_ ” Ianto insisted, trying to rise again. The motion caused the cooling pad covering the worse of the burns to slip free and fall on the floor. Jack winced at the sight of the fluid-filled bubbles dotting his chest.  
  
“Stay down or heaven help me, I'll tie you down!” Jack cried, fear and worry making his tone sharper than he intended.  
  
“I'm not the mood for fun and games, Jack,” Ianto hissed, his own tone filled with so much venom Jack frowned. The pain must really be driving him out of his head, he decided.  
  
“Jack, I think he needs the hospital,” Gwen said.  
  
“NO!” The two men cried as one.  
  
“Come on, Jack,” Gwen said, turning to him and speaking over Ianto's head. “They've got better resources to deal with him there. We don't even have a proper bed! I agree with him in that you can't just strap him to the table like he's a corpse waiting to be dissected, but he needs help.”  
  
“Ianto's one of us. We'll take care of him. Here.”  
  
Ianto nodded so vigorously Jack feared he'd injure his head further.  
  
“Jack, be reasonable! We can't do this alone. What if we get an emergency call? Who will look after him then?”  
  
“I will.”  
  
“What about the Weevils, then? They're still terrorizing the city.”  
  
“Bugger the Weevils. I'm staying here until he's better.”  
  
Gwen put her hands on her hips and took a deep breath, and Jack knew she was winding herself for one of her lectures. She didn't disappoint.  
  
“You're being irresponsible, Jack. This about protecting your secrets, isn't it? You don't want Ianto to get the care he needs because someone might ask too many questions. You've never let any of us go to hospital, which was fine when we had a doctor here but...”  
  
“Leave it alone, Gwen. He's staying here.”  
  
“You've got the police in your pocket, and you can modify the hospital records to say whatever you want, and you _still_ have to do everything yourself! You're going to get us all killed one day, Jack!”  
  
That did it. He didn't have to take that in his own base.  
  
“Like I did Tosh and Owen, you mean?” He fired back.  
  
Gwen gaped at him.  
  
“Oh, Jack, I'm sorry, I didn't mean...”  
  
Jack shook his head and turned back to Ianto, who allowed himself to be pressed back onto the table this time. He carefully repositioned each of the cooling pads affixed to the young man's chest and side, then reached over to a nearby trolley and picked up a packet containing a new one.  
  
“I don't want him to go because I don't want him out of my sight. I don't want to lose him again. Do you understand? I thought I'd lost him too. And I am not going to let that happen.” He pressed the new bandage against Ianto's chest and smoothed down the edges with his fingertips, the gentleness of the gesture an odd contrast to his clipped words.  
  
Gwen opened her mouth to retort, and then seemed to be remembering something. "Yeah, all right, I see your point,” she muttered. "I did crazier things that that when I thought I'd lost Rhys forever."  
  
She certainly had. Jack resisted the urge to agree with her.  
  
“Thank you both,” Ianto said. “For seeing reason.”  
  
“I'm seeing everything clearly, now.” Jack said. He leaned over and planted a gentle kiss on Ianto's cheek. Ianto gave Jack a tired smile and closed his eyes.  
  
“Gwen, give me the needle. There's no need for you to have it anymore.” Gwen looked reluctant, but obediently handed it to Jack.  
  
Jack took the needle and jabbed it into Ianto's right arm.  
  
“What the...” Ianto cried, eyes flying open. Gwen gasped.  
  
Jack held him down. “Shh. Trust me. It's for the best.”  
  
Ianto tried to rise, but the painkiller was laced with a sedative as well, and it started taking effect almost immediately.  
  
“But why?” he moaned, his eyes searching Jack's face. The accusation Jack saw there made his heart hurt. But he knew he was doing the right thing.  
  
“Like I said. I'm not going to lose you.” Jack replied. “I'm going to take care of you.” 


	10. Chapter 10

_'Still dark. But not the same dark._ '

Ianto had fallen into a fitful dose. Twice he had come out of it, jolted into awareness by the presence of someone near him, only to realize after several heart-hammering moments that he had dreamed it.

The third time he awoke, however, things had changed. Two thin bands of light had appeared in front of him about an arm's distance away; one horizontal at floor level, with a vertical one intersecting it to form an upside-down “T”.  Each part of the “T” was less than a centimeter thick but was roughly 2 1/2 meters long. Ianto stared at it, his sluggish brain unable to make sense of what he was seeing at first.

He finally realized that it was daylight, coming in though cracks in a door. But it was such an odd size for a door. He blinked a few times and then rolled backward, tilting his head up so that he could take it all in.

Definitely a door, one in two parts that swung open from either side and came together in the middle. Though it was hard to tell in the dim light, it appeared to be made of metal. Ianto craned his neck further until he caught sight of the closest wall of the room, which was also metal. It was less than a meter away from his feet, which, he noted, were bare. Wait, bare?

Well, that explained why they were so cold. Correction, had been so cold. Now he could barely feel them. That probably wasn't a good thing. He also noted that he was wearing a pair of baggy navy trackpants that he was positive he did not own, and a sweatshirt that featured a neon-green cartoon of what Ianto suspected was meant to be of Cardiff Castle on the front.

_'They took my clothes and dressed me like a tourist_ , Ianto thought. _We must have_ really _pissed someone off._ '

Ianto rolled onto stomach with a groan, and then wriggled onto his knees so that he could get a view of the whole room. That confirmed it. He knew where he was now. He'd seen this room before. Well, not this room _exactly._ And, technically, it wasn't even a room.

_'Oh, God._ '

It was an empty shipping container like the one John Hart had locked Gwen in when they'd first made that charming bastard's acquaintance.(Well, Tosh had been charmed. Ianto, not so much.)  If his hunch was correct, he was currently in one of the hundreds—maybe thousands--of identical containers located at the Barry Docks, in the Vale of Glamorgan. Was this Hart's doing, then? Had he returned to exact his revenge?

_'Hart's gone. Jack said he wouldn't come back. He seemed so sure._ '

But could one ever be sure of anything, when it came to John Hart?

It had been a race against time to find Gwen, a sick game of hide-and-seek with the clock running down on her life. As far Ianto was concerned it had only been an act of Providence that he'd managed to find Gwen before she...

No, he wasn't going to think of that!

_'...Died,_ his mind, which could be quite a bastard itself at times, continued relentlessly _. 'And you knew where to look, then. Jack doesn't even have that, does he?_ '

He'd known where to look because he'd been able to track Gwen's phone, which had been lying a few rows away from her conscious but paralyzed body. Once he'd found it, Tosh had done a bit of triangulation of cell signals and they'd found the proper container in the nick of time. Perhaps his phone was nearby as well?

_'Yeah, right._ '

Someone had gone to great lengths to divest him of his clothes, his shoes, his watch, his Bluetooth earpiece (a shake of his head confirmed this), his socks and even, given the unusually _free_ sensation in his trousers, his pants. (And wasn't that a disturbing thought.) They weren't likely to have left his phone lying about.

A wave of dizziness passed through him, and his stomach twisted in a way that made him feel nauseous. He realized how ravenous he felt, and even worse, that his mouth was as dry as dust. How long it had been since he'd had anything to eat or drink? Twelve hours? More? It was impossible to figure out without knowing what time it was.

Ianto fought through the dizziness, swaying but managing to remain upright. When it passed, he felt weaker than ever, but had a plan forming in his mind. He pushed the physical discomfort away to focus on it.

Now that it was daylight, perhaps someone would be around that would hear him. Given the size of the place, and the sneaking suspicion that it was the early in the morning on Saturday, it was a bit of a long shot, but it was better than no shot at all.

He hobbled on his knees to the door, which he judged would be the thinnest of the four sides of the container, and sized it up. His hands were useless, but he could use his legs to kick. He lowered himself back down so that he was lying on his side, and inched along until he was positioned close to it. Then he lifted his legs and slammed the door with his feet.

They struck the cold metal with a muffled “thump” that sent a shock from the soles of his feet all the way up to his hips. It hadn't been the resounding ring that Ianto had been hoping for, but it was better than nothing.

He lifted his legs and kicked the door again. And again.


	11. Chapter 11

Getting put under had never been part of the plan. Perhaps he'd overdone it on the injuries a little, Iolo mused, shortly after waking on the Autopsy Table of the Hub.  He'd needed enough injuries to keep from having to resume Ianto's daily routine before he was confident he could carry it out, but he hadn't counted on Jack having so many strong painkillers and sedatives to hand.

Fortunately, Iolo had been on so many meds over the years that he had a very high tolerance. Stelazine, Risperdal, Phenobarbital, Thorazine, Elavil, Tryptizol, Paxil and Prozac--he'd been on them all at point or another. Detoxing from the cocktail of drugs he was on when he'd escaped had been a hellish three-day ordeal during which his shaking, sweating body had attempted to turn itself inside out, repeatedly, in the bathroom of the cheap motel room. The vomiting had been so bad at some points he thought he wouldn't survive. But he had. Even while he had been hallucinating that each tile in the floor contained a devil's face that was laughing at him, he'd managed to keep his goal of getting revenge in mind, and focusing on that had got him through.

Though it was the last thing he wanted, Iolo had to admit it felt wonderful when his excruciating pain disappeared seconds after Jack jabbed the needle into his arm. The unconsciousness that followed had been less welcome. He had things to do, and there was no time to waste being out of it.

Things to do... what time was it, anyway?

Iolo turned his head to the right where a monitor measuring his vitals had been set up. It told him that his heart-rate was steady and his pulse was in the normal range, but not what he really needed to know. He turned his head to the left, and saw Jack sat in chair right next to him, with arms folded across his chest, his legs stretched out, and his eyes shut.

_'Bollocks.'_

Iolo closed his eyes and forced himself to keep breathing deeply, in and out, lest some alarm go off alerting Harkness that he was awake. He wouldn't put it past the man to have set one. He had divined from Ianto's old diaries that his brother and Harkness were more than employer and employee, and had been from some time. But nothing had prepared him for the level of devotion that he'd seen from Jack since he'd arrived.

Of Gwen there was no sign. That was a good thing. At least she had the sense not to hover over him watching him sleep, for Chrissakes. He'd expected better from Ianto's boss! Correction: boss/lover. Or whatever the hell he was.

Ianto's diaries, which had gone back to September of 2007, had been full of detailed descriptions of the eyebrow-raising sexual encounters he had engaged in with the Captain. Even if the accounts were exaggerated (which Iolo suspected they were, as some of the things described didn't seem humanly _possible)_ Ianto was clearly in possession of intimate knowledge of his boss that no employee had any right to. No, there was some sort of sex going on, and, furthermore, it had been going on since Ianto had returned from being suspended, though what that goody-two shoes could have done to be suspended Iolo couldn’t fathom. The diaries didn't say.

However, the diaries also reflected such a level of  doubt and confusion that Iolo was sure that Ianto's fear that he was just being used as a convenient shag was correct. It seemed that the good Captain had never discussed their relationship, _ever,_ and at one point had disappeared for months with an old boyfriend nicknamed “The Doctor” without so much as word of farewell. Ianto had been gutted, but then had picked back up with him when he had returned regardless.

This didn't surprise Iolo one bit. Ianto had always been the weaker of the two brothers, easily manipulated by a strong-willed person such as this Captain Jack, and Iolo himself. Except the one time Iolo had really needed him to be, of course.

_'Don't think about that—the heart monitor will go off for sure. Think of something pleasant until Jack decides he's had enough of the damn folding chair and goes back to work, or to bed. The diaries mentioned quarters downstairs. Surely he'll decide they're a better place for a kip if that's what he's after.'_

Of course, the diaries had also mentioned that Jack had claimed not to need to sleep. If Ianto believed that, he really was delusional.

Maybe he'd review the diaries in his mind while he was waiting, though there wasn't any need to. He had perfect recall, and most of them had been pathetic drivel, useless for his purposes.

For example, there had page after page of Ianto wallowing in the loss of “Lisa”, an event which had occurred before the diaries he had found, but whom Iolo assumed was the Lisa Hallet that had worked with Ianto and died in Canary Wharf. _('Thank you, Internet, for that bit of info, as well as the picture of the two on a company picnic.')_ Based on what Iolo had read in the diaries, Ianto held himself responsible for her death, which was ridiculous given that terrorists had attacked that building, but was also so typical of his brother, the self-pitying wanker.

There had also been plenty about Ianto feeling conflicted about his attraction to Jack, which was just idiotic as far as Iolo was concerned. If you wanted something, you either went after it and enjoyed it to the fullest, or you squashed the desire. There was no point in sitting around worrying about whether you _should_ have it.

The passing reference to the time Ianto had first acted on his attraction to Jack had been surprising, Iolo had to admit. Apparently Ianto had made the first move, early on in his employment, when Jack had been flirting with him during his weapons training. Iolo couldn't find a diary for this period, but Ianto had written about it fondly several times later, and Iolo had no reason not to believe it.  However, this admirable show of initiative on his brother's part was totally negated by all the guilt Ianto felt about the ongoing relationship.

If _he,_ Iolo, was having sex with someone he wanted as much as Ianto wanted Jack, he wouldn't waste time feeling guilty about it, that's for sure. Not that he himself had any use for sexual encounters. Iolo found the very idea distasteful, involving as it did out-of-control feelings, the exchange ofdisgusting bodily fluids, and _other people_. He had trained himself to ignore those urges like he did other inconvenient states of the body, like pain and hunger.  When they got too insistent, he took care of them himself, in private. That other people weren't able to do the same just proved how weak they were.

As he'd read through Ianto's diaries, Iolo had become aware that a successful impersonation of Ianto would probably have to involve faking physical interest in Jack until he found some way to break things off with him, which he intended to do as soon as possible. In the meantime, his injuries should get him out of the necessity of actual sexual contact. That was a relief.

As if on cue, Jack stirred. The movement sent a faint cloud of his particular scent wafting in Iolo's direction. It was an unusual blend of sand, sunshine and musk, and he found himself taking in a deeper breath than he intended. He had never encountered anything like it. Of course, most of his interaction was with doctors and hospital staff, who seldom bothered with fancy aftershave or cologne, or other patients, who weren't allowed any, so he wasn't exactly an expert. It could have been the latest celebrity-endorsed fragrance; for all he knew it was what everyone was wearing these days. Not that he cared about such things.

There was a squeak of metal folding chair and a rustle of fabric, and suddenly warm fingers were brushing across his forehead.

_'If I pretend to be asleep he'll leave. Just a few more minutes...'_

The soft sound of footsteps moving away seemed to confirm this, but then they came back.

“Time to change these dressings,” Harkness murmured in that bright, false tone people used around the sick. Iolo resisted the urge to grind his teeth in annoyance at the man's fussing. How could it be time to change them anyway? How long had he been out? He had thought it wasn't long, but as he'd been drugged he wasn't really the best judge, was he? It could have been hours.

Anxiety shot through him at the thought. It wouldn't do to be out too long. He needed to get out of here and see to Ianto soon. He'd left him in a rather deplorable condition, which was regrettable, not because he cared about his brother's comfort (he didn't) but because if Ianto died on him too soon, he'd lose the chance to gain valuable information he needed to maintain his ruse.  If he'd known Harkness was going to take so long to find him, and then was going to put him under, he'd have made better arrangements for his brother.

Time to move things along. Iolo opened his eyes.

“Jack?” he said, not needing to fake sounding damaged. His tongue felt thick from the sedative and his voice was so croaky he barely recognized it.

“Ianto!” Jack cried. “You're awake.” His eyes flicked from Iolo's face to his watch and he frowned.

_'Not under as long as you expected, eh? Good.'_

“Yeah,” Iolo rasped, confirming the obvious.

Jack set the bandages he was holding down on the trolley and took Iolo's hand. “How are you feeling?”

“I've been better, Sir.”

Ianto's diaries had contained several references to his use of the honorific “Sir” with Jack. It had started as a mere formality, an effort to be professional in a workplace that wasn't very professional at all. _(“Casual to the extreme,” Ianto had written, his disapproval radiating from the page)_ but then he had discovered that the Captain got off on it and continued to use it long after they'd become intimate.

“Can I get you anything, Ianto? Some water? Something to eat?”

Iolo propped himself up on his elbows. “I could--I could murder a tea right about now,” he said.

Jack raised an eyebrow. “Tea, really? I can't remember the last time you had tea.”

_'Fuck.'_

“I like it when I'm not feeling well, Sir,” Iolo improvised. “But usually I just get it myself.”

Ianto let his voice trail off in an attempt to sound pathetic and distract Jack from the tea question, and it worked.

“The bandages can wait. Coming right up!” Jack declared. He leaned over, planted a kiss on Iolo's forehead, and turned to go.

“Could you... bring some biscuits too?”

“Sure! What kind?”

“Surprise me.”

“You got it.”

The weak smile Iolo had plastered on his face faded as he heard Jack's footsteps going up the stairs. Finally! Captain Fusspot was leaving. It was time for his next move.


	12. Chapter 12

Jack cast a longing look at Ianto's coffee station as he passed it, thinking how good a double espresso would taste right now. But he kept going to the little galley kitchen that lay beyond. Espresso just wouldn't be the same without Ianto to serve it to him, and he vowed to lay off the stuff until Ianto was well enough to do so again.  
  
Contrary to popular opinion around the Hub, Jack did know how to use the coffee machine—quite well, in fact. It was just that he liked having someone else do it for him. It was one of the _perks_ of being the leader, he'd decided long ago. Before Ianto arrived, Tosh had done it. Before her, it had been Sanjay, a middle-aged physicist and UFO buff who had come to Torchwood's attention when his SETI @ Home program picked up a transmission from a Hoix ship. Jack had intervened right before he was about to hold a press conference, and chose to hire rather than Retcon him. And not just because he was unusually fit for a physicist. Unfortunately, been killed in the line of duty, ironically enough by a different Hoix, a few years back.  
  
Out of all of theirs, Ianto's was his favorite brew, though Jack had to admit having the sexy Welshman in the sharp suit personally deliver it to him was a strong point in its favor. Not that he hadn't found Tosh and Sanjay sexy too, but there was something about the dignified young man who seemed older than his years that had always drawn Jack to him. Not to mention, he had a damn fine body under those suits. Sometimes Jack got so distracted by Ianto's presence he barely noticed the coffee. It had been that way since Ianto's first day on the job.  
  
Jack smiled at the memory of that first day. He'd been trying to find little jobs for Ianto to do until he could be properly trained on the computer system, and had waved him in the direction of the coffee station. A few minutes later Jack had walked by and caught sight of Ianto bent over and rummaging in a cupboard for spare mugs. The view of his arse in the tight trousers had been so breathtaking Jack had nearly walked into a wall. Jack had vowed right then and there Ianto would have the coffee-making chores going forward. Tosh hadn't seemed to mind. That Ianto turned out to be quite talented as a barista was a nice bonus.  
  
Jack arrived in the kitchen and put the kettle on, then eyed the several blends of loose tea that Ianto had laid by just in case someone wanted it. Few seemed to. Martha had enjoyed a cup or two, but she had been the last that Jack could recall.  
  
Waiting for loose tea to steep properly seemed like too long a time to be away from Ianto, so Jack grabbed two teabags and plopped them into mugs while the water heated up. When it was ready, he poured it into the cups, tucked a package of Hob Nobs under his arm, and headed back to the Autopsy Room.  
  
Approaching the stairway, he glanced down and was surprised to see that the table where he'd left Ianto was empty. He quickened his pace, moving as fast around the gantry as the cups of hot water would allow. He was nearly to the steps when he saw him.  
  
In an eerie similarity to what he had just been recalling, Ianto was on the far side of the room, bent over and rummaging through a cupboard of medical supplies. Jack found his eyes running across Ianto's exposed backside seemingly of their own volition. For some reason, the view was not quite as enticing as his memory had been—it must have been the baggy white scrubs that Ianto was currently wearing, and the fact that the man's back, while shirtless, had so many bandages stuck to it he resembled a patchwork quilt done in shades of flesh and white.  
  
The sight was distracting enough though, and Jack had to force himself to look away before he spilled hot water on himself.  
  
“Hey, what are you doing up?” Jack called as he started down the stairs.  
  
“I'm looking for my jumpers. It's chilly in here,” Ianto replied. “But I can't seem to find them. Someone's moved my things.”  
  
Jack frowned. _'His jumpers?'_  
  
“What are you talking about? You don't keep any jumpers here.” Ianto had a spare suit in his locker as well as an old pair of jeans and sweatshirt he wore when mucking out the cells. But never once had Jack seen him wear a jumper at work. Or anywhere at all, in fact.  
  
“Of course I do,” Ianto said, shutting the cupboard with a _"bang"_ and opening another.  
  
Jack set the food and drinks down on the trolley, moved over to Ianto, and put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
“Ianto, I assure you, there are no jumpers in there. Why don't you come over here and have some tea? That should warm you up. If you're still cold after that we'll find you something.”  
  
“No jumpers?” Ianto stared at the cupboard, which contained boxes of gauze and rubber gloves. He shook his head. “Of course there aren't! This is the Autopsy Bay. Why was I looking for jumpers in  here?”  
  
“I don't know,” Jack said, possible explanations chasing each other through his mind, none of them good. Brain damage, maybe, or some sort of amnesia? He picked the least frightening one he could think of.  
  
“Maybe you were sleepwalking.” Even as he said it, his eyes flicked to the monitor wires that had been attached Ianto's skin. They appeared intact, like they'd been deliberately removed, as did the needle dangling from the bag of fluids Jack had set up to keep Ianto hydrated. He frowned. That didn't seem to support his sleepwalking theory.  
  
Ianto allowed himself to be lead back to the table. Jack patted it and he slid onto it absently, his gaze still fixed on the cupboards.  
  
“I guess I thought I was at home for a minute there, Sir. Silly of me,” he said. Jack offered him a cup of tea and he took it.  
  
“Not silly. You've been through quite an ordeal,” Jack said.  
  
Ianto took a sip, and then looked up at Jack. “I suppose it could be the painkillers. I told you I don't react well to them, didn't I?”  
  
A lopsided smile—lopsided because the lip was split and his face was swollen—took the sting out of the words, although it was such a painful parody of Ianto's normal smile Jack felt his heart clench.  
  
“Yeah, you did. Maybe that's what it was.”  
  
Jack picked up his own cup and drank. Perhaps that was all it had been, but his mind was racing ahead, already planning to run scans on Ianto's brain. They had plenty of scanners to choose from, terrestrial and otherwise, though interpreting the results could prove a challenge. He could handle basic anatomical readouts, but deciphering the mysteries of the brain was a bit beyond him. Well, he'd figure out what to do with them when he got them. Maybe he could send them to Martha.  
  
“Sorry about that, by the way,” Jack said. “But I thought it was for the best. I think you'll agree when you see what I accomplished while you were unconscious.” He reached out and touched one of the bandages on Ianto's chest.  
  
“What you accomplished?” Ianto glanced down at Jack's hand. “Jack? What did you do?”


	13. Chapter 13

“Thump!” _Fifty-eight. “_ Thump!” _Fifty-nine._ _“_ THUMP!” S _ixty._  
  
Ianto let his legs fall to the floor and lay back, panting with exertion. He'd been kicking the door in sets of three over last half-hour or so, with pauses to listen in between each set.  He hadn't heard anything to give him hope. There had been neither the roar of an engine, nor a boat horn to indicate that there was anyone in the vicinity, much less a human voice.  
  
 _'Just_ them. _'_  
  
After _thirty-six there_ had been an outburst of what sounded like high, mocking laughter, and Ianto had frozen, listening intently. He had nearly wept when he realized that it was seagulls, circling overhead outside. It had been a long time before he had been able to muster the energy fo _r thirty-seven._  
  
His goal had been to make it to sixty and now that he had, it felt like he'd just endured the most sadistic workout of his life. His stomach, glutes and thigh muscles burned, and he was trembling all over.  
  
 _'I'm going to have Buns of Steel if I keep this up,'_ he thought. _'Jack won't be able to keep his hands off me.'_  
  
Of course, Jack never could keep his hands to himself very long anyway where Ianto was concerned.  
  
A headache had started up, throbbing in time with his kicks and continuing even when he'd stopped. On the plus side, he wasn't cold anymore. He had broken a sweat, though it didn't feel like a healthy sweat. His temperature had gone up so fast he wondered if he was running a fever on top of everything else. And he was so very, very thirsty. Should he really be wasting precious water sweating it out like this?  
  
 _'Don't bother. No one's coming.'_  
  
 _'Stop it,'_ he admonished himself, struggling to banish both the negativity and the vision of a crystal-clear mountain stream that had come into his head at the thought of water.    
  
_'Gotta keep trying!'_  
  
He called up a mental image of the map of the docks that he'd studied on the Sat Nav while driving to find Gwen. The property contained a large lot off to one side that was used for the storage of old shipping containers. If he were in that part now, it could be a long, long time before a worker happened by. Time he didn't have.  
  
Maybe the negative voice in his head had a point. He couldn't afford to wait around to be discovered. He'd have to find a way to escape on his own.  
  
But how? Ianto stared at the ceiling for awhile and waited for a flash of insight that didn't come. If he were the hero in a movie (or Jack) he'd have figured out six ways out of here already. But all he could think of to do was try to get out of the tape and then play it by ear.  
  
When he'd first discovered his predicament, he'd twisted his wrists back and forth, trying to find a weak point in the tape. There hadn't been one. But it had been dark then. Maybe now that he could see a little, he could find something in his metal prison that he could use to cut himself free.  
  
Ianto rolled onto his side, and struggled to his knees. It was even harder than it had been the last time, and the room tilted dangerously to one side when he did so. He waited, slumped forward and breathing shallowly, for it to right itself.  
  
He was getting weaker, he realized. He'd have to do this soon, if he was going to do it at all.


	14. Chapter 14

Iolo gasped when Jack peeled away the bandages from his chest. It wasn't because it hurt—it didn't, for Jack's touch was gentle, almost reverential—or because someone had shaved off his chest hair while he dozed (though the sight of all that skin without its usual covering of light brown curls was a bit odd). Rather, it was the fact that his burns were far more healed than they had any right to be. While the skin was still bright red in places, the blisters he had expected to find were nowhere in evidence. Patchy scabs in mottled colors of rust, brown and black had formed in their place.  
  
Iolo looked up at Jack, who was beaming at him.  
  
“Pretty cool, huh?' Jack asked. “This little marvel of Silurian engineering just spared you several days of painful healing.” He held up a palm-sized silver object, vaguely gun-shaped, that Iolo didn't recognize. “Got to hand it to _Homo reptilia—_ they're ingenious. We always wondered if it would work on humans. I'd say now we have our answer.  And thanks to your meticulous cross-referencing, I was able to find it when we most needed it.”  
  
“Yeah, cool,” Iolo echoed, alarm bells going off in his head.  
  
 _'Silurian? Homo reptilia? What the fuck? There are no such things. Unless--bloody hell. He believes it too. They really believe they're fighting aliens here.'_  
  
Iolo had dismissed the numerous references in Ianto's diaries to his alien encounters as code to hide the true nature of Torchwood's activities. He'd concluded that Torchwood was some sort of top-secret military branch, armed with cutting-edge equipment, that hunted down terrorists and other enemies of the Crown. Either that, or his brother was completely delusional and all of his accounts were made up. That was not out of the realm of possibility.  
  
But Jack? Was he delusional as well? His irrational devotion to Ianto aside, he seemed a pragmatic, no-nonsense type of leader. Gwen, too, had seemed a practical sort, a former PC that didn't seem given to flights of fancy. But either they were all three delusional... or all that bullshit Iolo had read about an “alien blowfish”, “alien sleeper agents” and “Nostrovite shapeshifters” hadn't been bullshit at all.    
  
Too, there was this “Hub” of theirs, which was definitely odd. Iolo had only caught glimpses of it, having been feigning unconsciousness as they carried him in, but he could _feel_ it looming above him, and it seemed every bit as vast and strange as Ianto had described.  
  
What Iolo really needed to do was to explore the Hub on his own, to see if all the hidden storage rooms, the supposed archives of alien artifacts, and the vault where they kept frozen dead bodies that could be thawed out again really existed. And, most importantly, he needed to get into the computer system. Once he was in there he'd find out everything he needed to know to maintain his ruse in perpetuity, and then he could do away with his brother once and for all.  
  
To do _that_ , he needed to get Jack to stop hovering. Speaking of Jack, he realized the man was currently staring at him with. Apparent concern for Ianto caused his forehead to crease and fine lines to appear around his eyes, and Iolo wondered how old he was. Though the differences in their ages was another thing Ianto worried about, how old the Captain actually was was something that had, curiously, been left out.  
  
“I'm sorry, Sir, did you say something?”  
  
“I asked you if you were in any pain.”  
  
“Oh! No. Not really. No.”  
  
“That's good! The painkiller should be wearing off now. I'm just making sure.”  
  
 _'You mean it wore off over an hour ago,'_ Iolo thought. ' _Your bloody sedatives too. And if you try to give me any more you'll regret it. The next time I have a “panic attack” I might just start punching and kicking and not be able to stop.”_  
  
Iolo smiled. “I'm fine, Jack. Thank you for your concern.”  
  
Jack took Ianto's hand in his own. “I'm sorry for drugging you against your will. But you went wild  there, and not in a good way.” Jack gave Iolo a flirty smile, and Iolo forced himself to keep smiling back.  
  
“I was afraid you were going to injure yourself. Plus, I knew that this, if it worked at all, would hurt.” Jack pointed to the Silurian device. “It concentrates days of healing into a few minutes, but it also  makes you feel all the pain you would feel over those days all at once. Remember those mice Owen tested it on? They died from the pain, not from their injuries.  I didn't want you to go through that.”  
  
Iolo nodded. “We stopped using it after that.” It was a guess, but given what Jack had said about not being sure the device would work on humans, an educated one.  
  
“Your idea,” Jack said, pride evident in his voice. “Owen was furious but you stood firm and insisted that further testing would be cruel and inhumane.”  
  
 _'Ianto would. He never had the stomach to do what was necessary.'_  
  
“So you tested it on me instead, Sir?” Iolo said. “So glad I could do my bit for science.”  
  
“No! Well, I guess, yes. In a way. But that's not why...”  
  
“I was teasing, Jack.”  
  
Jack chuckled. “Ah, it's good to have you back, Ianto.”  
  
“Thank you, Sir. But I wasn't aware I was out for that long.” Iolo raised an eyebrow.  
  
“It was about five hours. But that's not what I meant. It's been so long since we've just sat together like this, not _doing_ anything. We've been so... busy, that even though we've been together we haven't really been been _together_.”  
  
“Jack, it's fine...” Iolo started, but Jack held up a hand.  
  
“It's my fault, I know. I'm the one that's been driving us. But maybe it's time we eased up a bit. We've been burning the candle at both ends to repair the city but I realized that it's not worth a damn if I lose you in the process.”  
  
Jack was staring at Iolo so intently that Iolo felt uncomfortable. What was he supposed to say to that? Heart-felt confessions were not something he had a lot of experience with. He'd never gotten close enough to anyone, or let them get close enough to him, to make one. The way Jack was emphasizing each word, as if they were difficult for him to say, made him think that Jack wasn't comfortable with them either. Clearly this was some sort of important moment. He better not blow it.  
  
 _'Ianto, you're Ianto. What would he do?'_  
  
Luckily, Ianto wasn't much of a talker either, preferring to pour his innermost feelings onto the page rather than risk sharing them with others. He also spent an inordinate amount of time obsessing about things unsaid and undone, which he never seemed to learn from, in Iolo's opinion, but that was neither here nor there. What was important was that Ianto had a lot of techniques for diverting attention, and he'd jotted them down.  
  
Offering hot beverages or tempting treats was one of Ianto's tried-and-true methods for dealing with Jack. Iolo thought about offering to make some coffee, but then discarded the idea. He didn't think Jack was about to let him go puttering around just yet. Besides, they already had tea.  
  
Ianto had another strategy, however, that given the way Jack was looking at him right now, would probably be just as effective. Instead of deflecting the Captain's sentimentality, he could make use of it, encourage it. He might lean in, place his hand on Jack's forearm, press their lips together, and effectively cut off any further discussion. The thought made Iolo's stomach leap.  
  
He'd never kissed anyone passionately; the very idea of such intimate contact usually made him queasy. There was something about Jack's lips, though, especially that full red lower one, that didn't look like they'd be that unpleasant to kiss. And then there was that aftershave of his. It lingered there, on the fringes of Iolo's consciousness, inviting him to lean in for a good whiff and then see what happened next...  
  
Iolo looked away and took a long swig of his tea, noting how his hand trembled slightly. He closed his eyes and willed it to be still, and his breathing to slow as well.  
  
When felt more in control, he opened his eyes, and drank the rest of the tea in his cup, stalling for time.  Finally, he had an idea. He made a show of setting the cup down where it wouldn't be jostled, then glanced pointedly down at the wounds on his chest.  
  
“Think we should cover these back up then, or should they be left to breathe?”  
  
Jack frowned, but did not seem surprised by the change of subject. “Air would be better, if you can stand the feel of the shirt brushing on them.”  
  
 _'I sat in the sun for hours when they were raw and oozing, waiting for you. I certainly think I can handle this.'_  
  
“Let's try it and see,” Iolo said.  
  
Jack reached down and pulled a packet of plastic-wrapped white material from the bottom of the trolley.  
  
'I'll help you with the shirt,” he said. “Getting it on over your splint will be tricky. I'm sorry I couldn't find the bone-knitter. Any idea where you put that?”  
  
“I'm guessing it wasn't under “B” for Bone?” Ianto said, allowing Jack to remove the sling his arm was bound in.  
  
“Nope. Or “K” for “Knitter” or “A” for “Alien Medical Device” or anything else I thought to try.”  
  
Iolo had no idea what Jack was talking about, much less where Ianto could have put it. He was still trying to come to terms with the fact that Torchwood had “alien medical devices” stored somewhere, so many of them they had to have a filing system. He thought he might have to fake another bout of amnesia  if Jack pressed the issue of the missing bone-knitter, but then the Captain shrugged.  
  
“Owen must have stuck it somewhere. I'll look around some more when you're all cleaned up and resting.”  
  
Iolo held his arms up so Jack could put the shirt on him, wincing as he lifted the left. He must have done a damn fine job with the fracture in his forearm, as it hurt like hell when he moved it. He'd been so pleased when he'd found that the heavy door in the basement of his grandmother's house was intact. He'd only had to slam it shut on his arm once.  
  
Despite the pain, he was in no mood for resting. He needed to explore the Hub, and he needed to get to Ianto. His brother had to be hurting bad by now. While that was a pleasant enough thought, it would be most inconvenient Ianto was too far gone to give him information when he got there. The medical supplies that Iolo had found in the cupboards should help if it came to that, however. That had been a lucky break. No pun intended.  
  
“There you go,” Jack declared, stepping back to give Iolo, now clad in a cotton v-necked shirt that matched the trousers, the once over.  “Too bad we didn't have red.” He winked.  
  
Iolo shrugged, or tried to. The pain in his arm made him wince and stop-mid shrug.  
  
Jack noticed. “You look like you're ready for some more painkillers,” he said.  
  
“Jack, could we try some Paracetamol instead? I'm feeling much better. Really.”  
  
Jack frowned. “Do you think that will be strong enough?”  
  
“I do. And if it's not, I'll tell you.”  
  
“All right. But see that you do. I don't want you suffering in silence. Even though you're so good at it. This is not the time for stoicism, you understand? I need to know if anything's wrong.”  
  
“Now that you mention it, there is something that's wrong, Sir.”  
  
“What's that?  
  
Iolo waved his good arm over the table he was sat on. “It's impossible to get any real rest on this thing. In case you hadn't noticed, it's cold and hard.”  
  
Jack laughed. “I bet it is at that. It was designed to be convenient, not comfortable. We've had no complaints from the regulars, though.”  
  
“Very funny, Sir.” Iolo knew damn well what the table was normally used for. It was a good thing he wasn't squeamish. There were a lot of people that wouldn't take too well to waking up on table used to dissect corpses.  
  
“I guess it was funnier the first 200 times or so,” Jack grinned. “We keep talking about getting a proper medical bed. But somehow we only seem to think of it when there's a crisis, and then forget when the crisis is over. Aren't you supposed to remind me of these things?  
  
“I'm sure I did, Sir. But I can't actually make you _do_ anything, you know.”  
  
“I wouldn't say that, Ianto Jones,” said Jack with a mischievous twinkle in  his eye. “I seem to recall that you can be quite persuasive when you want to be.” Iolo's mind went to some of the more salacious entries in Ianto's diary, where Ianto had instigated the action, and he felt his face heat up. Perhaps, like the accounts of alien encounters, they weren't exaggerations after all.  
  
“But we'll leave that for later,” Jack was saying. “For now, as you're eating and drinking on your own, I guess we don't need the equipment. What say we move you to the couch?”  
  
“Sounds lovely, Sir.”  
  
Iolo had no idea where this couch was, but if moving to it got him out of this room he was all for it. It was one step closer to exploring the Hub proper.  
  
As for his other goal, getting out of the Hub, well, he'd think of something.


	15. Chapter 15

Ianto lay curled on his side, panting, and trying not to think of food or drink. But his mind kept betraying him. He'd always been a visual person, able to recall images of things he'd seen or read in vivid detail, and had counted that ability as one of his strengths. Now, it seemed like a curse. He was currently experiencing a cheeseburger so clearly that he could hear the sizzle of it on the grill, see the bright yellow cheese melting before his eyes, smell the yeast as he opened a packet of buns, feel the coolness of the china plate he was putting it on and then taste—oh, what a _taste_ —the tang of the meat on his tongue.  
  
Ianto groaned. How was it he'd never appreciated the sheer joy of what it was to eat a cheeseburger? He swore if he got out of this alive he'd never take eating for granted again. Why, he would go to a restaurant every day and order something different each time just because he _could_. But first, he'd order cheeseburgers. Lots of them, and savor every bite of each one.  
  
And wouldn’t they be lovely with a nice cold Coke to wash them down? He could see the condensation on the glass, fresh from the freezer,  and hear the crackle the little bubbles made as the soda was poured, and...  
  
 _'Stop it!'_  
  
Ianto moaned and forced his eyes open. They burned, as did his throat and mouth.  
  
His efforts to find something to free himself with had been for naught. He'd explored every inch of his prison, looking for a sharp bit of metal he could use to saw through his bindings, and when that had failed, had tried to pry up part of the wooden floor. All he'd managed to get was a half-dozen splinters in his fingertips and a scrap of wood smaller than a matchstick. It had fallen apart when he had tried to use it.  
  
It was at that point that he'd collapsed in the corner and curled up in a ball.  
  
 _'Just to rest a bit,'_ he told himself, though it had felt like giving up. He'd cried then; gasping sobs that sounded so weak and so desperate they surely couldn't be coming from him. They upset him further, which caused him to cry more in a sad, viscous circle.  
  
Finally, he was too exhausted to do even that. _'Kick the wall again in a few,'_ he had promised himself, closing his eyes. He'd just rest a few minutes more first. If only his brain would rest too, and stop tormenting him with visions of what he couldn't have.


	16. Chapter 16

Iolo's break came in the form of an emergency call from Gwen. She'd been out searching Llanishen park for an item that was emitting small amounts of Rift energy when she'd caught sight of two Weevils wandering around in broad daylight, and had phoned in for assistance.  
  
Jack glanced from his mobile to Iolo, who was currently propped up on the couch with an array of books scattered around him, and then back down at the phone, clearly torn.  
  
“Just go,” Iolo said. “I'll be fine.”  
  
“I'll be right there, Gwen,” Jack said into the phone, then shoved it into his pocket. Then he glanced at Iolo again. “Are you sure?”  
  
“I'm not a child!” Iolo snapped, then wondered if he sounded too impatient. For all he knew Ianto would have welcomed a bit of coddling. He'd always seemed to require it more than Iolo when they were kids  
  
Jack didn't seem to find anything amiss. “Right. Right. Of course not. I'll just go help Gwen, then be right back. Need anything before I leave?”  
  
“My laptop.”  
  
Jack had already denied this request once, but it hadn't been totally in vain, for the Captain's gaze had strayed to a small, silver machine on a nearby table just before he'd said "no". At least now Iolo knew where it was.  
  
“Ianto..." Jack warned.  
  
“But since you won't let me work, I've got books, a drink, a lovely cheese and pickle sandwich, a dozen ice packs and enough Paracetamol tablets to choke a horse. What more could I need?”  
  
“I know. All right then.” But still Jack lingered, gazing at Iolo. “Llanishen Park. That brings back memories, eh? You, me, a Weevil?”  
  
Iolo had no idea what Jack was on about. Clearly the event held some significance for the Captain, but either Ianto hadn't written it down, or it had happened in a period Iolo didn't have a diary for.  
  
“Good times,” Iolo said. “Jack?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Just _go_!”  
  
“I' m going, I'm going. Just...” Jack moved closer to the couch.  
  
 _“What?”_ Suddenly Jack's hand was on Iolo's thigh and he was bending down, coming in for— _bloody fucking hell_ —a kiss on the lips. Iolo turned his head at the last second so that Jack's lips grazed his cheek. Jack drew back and Iolo kept his gaze fixed on the ugly brown plaid of the couch, not trusting himself to look at him. A strange mixture of disgust and excitement had flared in his belly and he didn't trust it. He certainly wasn't going to let Jack see it.  
  
“... Take care of yourself,” Jack finished, then turned away. He strode across the room, scooped up his coat from the chair he'd tossed it over, and went.  
  
As soon as the cog wheel door closed behind him, Iolo was on his feet. He could still feel the imprint of Jack's hand, warm and tingly, on his thigh, and he absently touched his cheek while he looked around. When he caught himself doing it, he jerked his hand away, and began his self-guided tour of the Hub.  
  
He'd had to resist the urge to gape as Jack had helped him up the stairs into the Hub proper. The place was cavernous, larger than he'd ever dreamed. He had no idea how it could all fit underground, this close to the Bay, until he'd realized they must be buried deep under water and sediment both. That thought didn't bother him as much as looking up did. Peering up past the water tower to catch a glimpse of the ceiling, he felt dizzy. He'd spent so much of his life indoors, with only occasional, supervised trips onto Providence Park's grounds, that any large open space made him uncomfortable.  
  
A quick peek up and he decided to focus instead on the rooms around him. He scanned the area, turning  full-circle and mentally checking them off on the map he'd made in his head from Ianto's descriptions—the Greenhouse, the Boardroom, Jack's office, the workstations. The workstations! Just what he needed. Laptops were all well and good, but Iolo knew the most powerful programs had to reside on the bigger machines. He made his way over to nearest desk and sat down in the chair, careful not to jog his arm in its sling as he swiveled the chair around to face the screen.  
  
And what a screen! It was bloody enormous, and so thin he couldn't help wondering where the rest of it was. And where was the computer itself? He finally located it underneath the desk, but at first he'd overlooked it. He'd been searching for something a lot bigger.  
  
Well. It seemed he'd missed out on a few technological advancements over the years. Or was this more of Torchwood's alien technology? He could take the old IBM PC that they'd given him in Providence Park apart and put it back together with his eyes closed, and he'd always thought it a thing of beauty. But compared to this, it was clunky and awkward.  
  
Iolo pressed the only button he could find, a rectangular depression that barely looked like a button at all, and the monitor in front of him flared with light.  
  
 _'So fast,_ ' he mused, thinking of how long it took his beloved PC to boot up. Even the computer he'd used at the library hadn’t been this small or this fast.  
  
And to think Ianto got to use this machine every day. What a joy it was going to be, plumbing the depths of Torchwood's Mainframe as well as that marvel of engineering, the Internet. He hadn't been allowed Internet access in the institution and frankly, had he known what he was missing, he might have tried harder to break into the main office that had it.  
  
He'd been amazed when, about a week after his escape, he'd wandered into Cardiff Central Library looking for phone directories to start searching for his brother, and had been introduced to the Internet instead. It had made his job so much easier, and cut the time it took to formulate his plans to weeks instead of the months he had been prepared for. A few quick searches and he'd not only discovered four home addresses that could have been Ianto's (one of which actually was), he'd also familiarized himself with maps of the area, and found himself a deal on a hotel, which he paid for by picking the pockets and purses of the other library patrons. Iolo had become the Internet's biggest fan.  
  
With access to the vast storehouse of knowledge available on the Internet and the classified information that Torchwood was privy to, Iolo knew he could do—or be—anything he wanted.  
  
He wanted.


	17. Chapter 17

Ianto was dreaming about his brother, and wasn't that strange? He hadn't, to his knowledge, dreamed about his brother in years. The awareness of how strange it was permeated even the dream, though that sliver of consciousness wasn't enough to wake him up. Which was too bad, really, for this dream wasn’t any old dream, it was a long-buried memory.  
  
  
 _Ianto and Iolo, all of five years and seven months old, huddled under their sister's Rhia's bed while Tad ranted and raved downstairs. At one point Ianto heard the sound of glass shattering. At another, he heard his mam yell back, but she hadn't said anything for a while. Ianto hoped she'd taken their sister and gotten out.  Most evenings she did just that, took all of the kids out for a walk right after dinner, 'round and 'round the neighborhood until she was sure that their father had gone to sleep._  
  
 _This night, he had come home already rip-roaring drunk, and they hadn't been fast enough getting out of the house. He had stood in the front door, unsteady on his feet and yelling about how ungrateful his family was that they didn't immediately come to greet him, effectively blocking their exit. His mam had shooed the boys upstairs and shoved Rhiannon behind her before he could reach the lounge, where the twins had been watching cartoons and Rhia had been doing her homework. There hadn't been time to do anything else._  
  
 _Ianto clutched Iolo's shoulder and tried desperately to remain silent. Despite his best efforts, however, a sob burst from him. Iolo pinched him so hard on the arm that, startled, he did stop crying._  
  
 _Iolo never cried. He got angry instead. Even in the dim light, Ianto could see his blue eyes blazing with defiance. When the shouting downstairs resumed, Iolo made to scoot out from under the bed._  
  
 _“Don't go out there, please,” Ianto whispered. “He'll hurt you.”_  
  
 _“I'm not afraid,” Iolo declared, but stayed put, perhaps remembering the last time he had tried standing up to their tad. It hadn't ended well for him._  
  
 _“Just don't,” Ianto pleaded, wrapping his arm around Iolo. Iolo stiffened in the embrace, but didn't move away. When their mother came for them some unknowable quantity of time later, Ianto was dozing with his head on Iolo's shoulder, and Iolo was still wide awake, staring into the night-darkened room._  
  
  
Ianto's eyes flew open, and for a split-second, he thought he was still under the bed. The sun had changed position while he'd slept, and his prison was nearly as dark his sister's bedroom had been that evening.  
  
 _'Just a dream,'_ he told himself, though the relief that usually accompanied that thought didn’t come. How could it? His present circumstances were, if anything, worse, and he had no one to protect him this time. His mother was dead (his father too for that matter), Iolo was as good as, and he saw his sister only on holidays. Their relationship was cordial but distant. If he didn't phone or turn up for several months, it wouldn't be out of the ordinary.  
  
And Jack and Gwen had no idea where he was.  
  
That they'd be searching for him, he had no doubt, and they'd probably have the police involved as well, but the thought held little comfort. Whoever had taken him had been clever to do it from his grandmother's house. There were no security cameras in that neighborhood, as there was nothing there that anyone was interested in protecting.  
  
 _'Be patient. Never give up,'_ the part of his mind that remembered his training whispered. But it was so hard not to. Cardiff was a big city, and its environs even bigger. There were so many places to look, how could they possibly find him in time?  Even assuming they somehow figured out he was at the Docks, searching all the containers would take days. He didn't have days.  
  
Despair washed over him. He was so tired. He just wanted to sleep. He closed his eyes again.  
  
An image of his brother's face as he'd looked when he'd last seen him appeared. It was a mirror image of his own, but even then there had been subtle differences. At least Ianto had thought so. It had always baffled him that no one, not even those closest to them, could tell them apart. Their own mam got them mixed up.  
  
 _'And again I'm thinking about him! Why? Am I that close to dying my life is flashing before my eyes? If so, it's a rip-off. It skipped all the good parts. I was better off when I was thinking about cheeseburgers.'_  
  
As if on cue, the cheeseburger came back, larger than life and looking tastier than ever. And the sight of the fizzy cola that accompanied it nearly made him weep again.  
  
 _'I take it back, that's not better.'_  
  
A fury born of frustration washed through him then, and without bothering to calculate whether he was in an optimum location for maximum effect, he kicked out at the wall.  
  
 _“Thunk.”_ It wasn't as loud as his earlier efforts had been. He doubted anyone would hear it unless they were right next to his container. He didn't care. With the last vestiges of his energy, he kicked out again.  
  
 _“Thunk.”_  
  
The third time his legs missed the wall. He couldn't lift them far enough. He let them fall back to the floor, and his head fell back as well, his aching neck muscles too tired to support it. He closed his eyes.  
  
 _'Fuck.'_


	18. Chapter 18

LOGIN INCORRECT. PLEASE TRY AGAIN.  
  
Iolo flopped back in the desk chair and sighed in frustration. He wondered how many tries he had before the system locked him out. Or whether it would.  
  
Ianto's laptop at his flat had been far easier to get into than this. That his password was “Daffodil”—the name of the stupid yellow-gold hamster they'd had when they were seven, plus “819”, their birth-date, hadn't exactly been rocket science to figure out.  
  
Of course, there hadn't been much useful information on the laptop either—perhaps that's why Ianto hadn't tried very hard to protect it. The most frequently used program was a spreadsheet he used to keep track of his bills and the dates he'd sent payment—boring. There was another spreadsheet  where he balanced his checkbook every month—also boring. The discovery of a box of checks in the desk had been far more interesting—Iolo had pocketed those. There had been a log of credit card purchases as well, but no credit cards in the flat. Iolo had deduced that Ianto carried them on his person, a deduction that later proved correct when he'd had the opportunity to divest Ianto of his wallet. The wallet had also contained the handy sum of 300 pounds, and a Maestro debit card from HSBC.  
  
He hadn't yet had a chance to figure out the PIN to that, but with any luck he wouldn't have to. He would make Ianto give it to him, along with the passcodes to the Torchwood computers. He hadn't been able to access Torchwood from Ianto's laptop. He had hoped that being on site would have allowed him to bypass some of the levels of security, but apparently that was not the case.  
  
No problem. He now knew what he needed to know. Time to pay a visit to his brother. He just had to make a few quick preparations first.  
  
Iolo returned to the Autopsy Bay, where he removed a bin liner from an empty trash can and shook it open. He retrieved some bottles of water from a mini-fridge that bore a hand-lettered sign that said, “Owen's—Keep Out!” and dropped them in.  
  
He collected Ianto's wallet, keys, and watch from the trolley in the Autopsy Bay where Jack had thoughtfully placed them, then bent to retrieve his shoes, which were underneath. He wrestled the shoes onto his feet, grateful that Jack hadn't bothered to untie the laces, and dropped the rest of the things in the bag.  
  
He paused when he passed a stack of neatly packaged scrubs, struck by the realization that that's what he was wearing too. Would he be too conspicuous walking around the Plass like that?  He was, after all, an escaped mental patient, and dressed like this he actually looked the part. (Ironically, when he'd escaped he'd been wearing a jumper and jeans.)  
  
It was probably more likely that given his injuries, he'd look like he'd just wandered out of the ICU of the nearest hospital. Either way, some Good Samaritan might take it upon themselves to alert the authorities, and he couldn't have that. He'd better see what he could find to change into.  
  
Jack had already said Ianto didn't keep jumpers at the Hub, but there had to be something in the way of extra clothes. According to the diaries Ianto spent a lot of his nights at the Hub. The stuffy, dusty atmosphere of his flat, as if it was shut up a lot, had confirmed this fact.  
  
Iolo cringed inwardly at the memory of Ianto's flat. It too had been surprisingly easy to get into, as if Ianto cared little for it. Iolo had watched it for three days before he'd made his move, and Ianto had only been back to it once, for a couple of hours. Once Iolo was in, he'd hit pay dirt.  
  
  
The flat was located at top of a rickety old Victorian that had been converted into three apartments, one on each floor. The entire house, including Ianto's part, appeared to be stuffed with all manner of cheap reproduction furniture and tacky knick-knacks that offended Iolo's Spartan sensibilities, and he wondered how Ianto could bear living among all that clutter. Maybe that's why he was seldom home.  
  
If Ianto had lived in a bigger building where people didn't know their neighbors, Iolo might have had to do a lot more smooth talking. As it was, Ianto's landlady had “recognized” him on sight. In fact, she'd not only recognized him, she'd been both surprised and pleased to see him, if her mostly-toothless smile was anything to go by. She was eighty if she was a day, and partially deaf as well. He'd been knocking for quite some time before she finally opened the door.  
  
“Ianto!” she'd exclaimed. “What's wrong? You never come to see me unless something's wrong.”  
  
“I'm sorry, Ma'am,” Iolo had said, ducking his head and giving her a sheepish grin. “I seem to have misplaced my keys. Could you possibly let me into my flat?”  
  
“Of course I can. But you need to be more careful! What if I wasn't home? Or some unsavory type found them. Oh dear. I hope they weren't stolen. They thief could be on his way here right now!”  
  
“I'm pretty sure I just locked myself out, Ma'am. They're probably sitting right on the table. And if not, there's nothing on them to indicate they're mine.”  
  
“Well, that's a relief! And there's need to be so formal,” she chided. “I told you before, call me Lilian.  Would you care to come inside for some tea?”  
  
“I'd love to, but I'm in a bit of a hurry, Lilian. Got a lot to work to finish before bed.”  
  
“Oh, dear. You're always working. That boss of yours is a real taskmaster! A young man like you should be out having fun. When you get to be my age, you're not going to look back and wish you'd spent more time at the office!” She threw back her head and laughed, and then, finally, hobbled inside and beckoned him to follower her. She'd pressed the spare set of keys into his hand with an admonition to copy and return them soon, and not to be such a stranger.  
  
And that had been that.  
  
  
Iolo returned to the main level of the Hub, where he poked through cupboards until he found a black peacoat that looked to be his size. He shrugged his right arm into the sleeve and pulled it closed over his arm in the sling. Not bad.  He shoved his right hand in the pocket and discovered a pair of leather gloves and a black watch cap. He tossed the gloves aside, then put the cap on his head and tugged it down as low over his forehead as he dared. That would hide the bandage that covered the jagged cut he'd given himself to match Ianto's. There wasn't anything he could do about his black eye or swollen lip. He'd just have to hope he could get a cab without attracting too much attention. The coat and cap themselves might look a bit conspicuous given it was it was mid-May, but as it had been chilly the last few days, he thought he could get by.  
  
He would have liked different trousers, but he hadn't seen any and time was wasting. The coat concealed his top half, at least.  It would have to do. He fished in the bag for Ianto's personal effects, found the keys and the wallet and put them in the coat pocket, and paused to admire the watch.  
  
 _'Not bad,'_ he thought. He hadn't had much experience with luxury items, but it looked expensive, like it went the suit Ianto had been wearing. That Iolo _knew_ was expensive. Bespoke tailoring always was. Iolo took one last glance at the watch, and then dropped it in the pocket to join the other things, as there was no easy way to put it on with one hand.  
  
The final item Iolo removed from the bag was Ianto's gun. He wasn't sure he'd be able to properly cock and fire it with one hand (or even two—everything he'd knew about guns he'd learned from television and the movies) but just having in his hand made Iolo feel good.  
  
He lifted the gun, took aim at a point on the water tower, imagined it was Ianto's head, and pretended to fire. Then he whirled and did it again to the nearest computer monitor, imagining that was his psychiatrist. A coat-rack, barely visible in the distance, became the social worker that had thwarted his prior attempt to escape. He laughed out loud at the sight of the three dead bodies that, in his mind, now lay scattered about on the floor.  
  
 _'Yeah, I could learn to like this.'_  
  
Iolo Jones tucked the gun in his pocket and headed to the cog wheel door, ready for his long-awaited reunion with his brother.


	19. Chapter 19

Ianto drifted in a semi-conscious state where the dream-like images wouldn’t stop coming. He could interrupt the flow of visuals with an act of will, but that just changed them. It didn't stop them.  
  
The last meal that Jack had taken him out for, the closest thing to a “date” they'd managed in some time, lay spread out before him: Chicken curry in a savory brown sauce, little pastries stuffed with vegetables, fluffy poori bread that had collapsed when Jack, giggling like a schoolboy, had stuck a fork into it, earning an eyeroll from Ianto. The food had been so spicy it had burned going down. Ianto had loved it. Then. Now, the memories were torture.  
  
 _'That's not real! I'm not there. I'm here.'_  
  
The image changed to one of a pristine white cool-box stuffed with ice, holding a variety of soft drinks and beers—all Ianto's favorite brands.  
  
 _'No, stop it! Please!'_  
  
Ianto found himself looking at Iolo again. What the hell? If his mind insisted on revisiting the past, why not produce his mam? He'd loved her, even though he wished she had done more to protect him from Tad. Or, if his subconscious insisted on a sibling, why not Rhiannon? They'd never been close, given the six-year difference in their ages, but at least she'd never been mean to him. Or how about his grandmother, whom he'd adored on sight? That would even make some sort of sense. He'd just visited her house, after all.  
  
No, it was still Iolo, looking the way he did the last time they'd been together, as kids, in their grandmothers' basement.  
  
 _'Ah, I get the connection now. The basement. Great, this little trip down memory lane can stop now.'_  
  
It didn't.  
  
  
 _“Iolo?” Ianto called, his voice sounding high and thin, though it wouldn't for much longer. He'd just turned eleven and was getting tall for his age. Puberty wasn't far away._  
  
 _“Iolo, are you down here?” Ianto descended the basement stairs, the threadbare carpet runner dingy under his bright red trainers. He wasn't afraid of the basement, exactly, but his grandmother had told them not to go down there, and he didn't want to disobey her. His mum had sent him to fetch Iolo, however, and this was the only place he hadn't checked._  
  
 _In his mind, “Don't go in the basement” had warred briefly with “Find your brother NOW”, and then “finding” had won out. His father was already at the table and getting impatient for his dinner. Though the whiskies he was pouring himself were keeping occupied for the moment, Ianto knew better than to keep him waiting for long._  
  
 _Iolo came into view about a meter from the base of the stairs. He was wearing identical trainers, though he'd chosen a different t-shirt and jeans that morning. His back was to the staircase and he was hunched over, clutching something in his hands. Something about his posture caused Ianto to pause._  
  
 _“Iolo, didn't you hear me calling you? What are you doing?”_  
  
 _Iolo turned around and Ianto could see what was in his hands.  
  
  
 _'No!'__ present-day Ianto pleaded, to no avail.  
  
  
 _ _Iolo was holding Enid, his grandmother's fluffy white cat. She was hanging limp in his hands, her head at an awkward angle, and Ianto knew, just knew, that she was dead._  
  
 _“What did you do,” he whispered, staring at the cat, aghast._  
  
 _“It bit me,” Iolo said, cold fury in his voice. “The little twat BIT me.” He threw the limp body down on the ground in disgust. “But I showed it.”_  
  
 _Ianto stared in horror at the body. He'd been disappointed when Mam-gu said they couldn't play with the cat, that she was elderly and not sociable, but then had shrugged and settled for exploring the rest of the house. Iolo, however had seemed to take Enid's rejection personally, and it had taken some persuading on Ianto's part to get him to leave the room where the cat was sunning herself in a window, ignoring them. By the time they'd finished exploring and gone outside, Ianto had forgotten all about Enid. Clearly, Iolo hadn't._  
  
 _“Mam-gu told us to leave her alone,” Ianto said._  
  
 _“I just wanted to play,” Iolo said, voice rising. “Stupid cat wouldn't play with me. It got what it deserved.”_  
  
 _“Boys? Where are you?”_  
  
 _Their mother's voice, coming from overhead._  
  
 _“They're coming!” Startled, Ianto jumped the last couple of steps and rushed to his brother's side._  
  
 _“We have to do something!” Ianto glanced all around them, searching for... what? What he really wanted was something that would bring the cat back to life, or send him back in time like in__ Back to the Future _ _so that he could fix it, but it was just an ordinary basement. There wasn't even a good place to hide the body._  
  
 _“Too late! He heard Iolo whisper fiercely._ “ _It's too late to do anything. Say you did it. OK, Ianto? Say it was an accident. You won't get into trouble if you say you did it. Not like I would. Do you hear me? Say it!”_  
  
 _Something funny did happen to time, then. It seemed to slow down to the speed of molasses pouring. Ianto watched his mother descend the stairs in slow motion, watched her mouth drop open. Her drawn-out shriek rang in his ears long after her mouth had closed. He saw his grandmother come down behind her, and he watched her face, her gentle face with its fascinating map of lines, crumple._  
  
 _He'd seen faces do a lot of things in his time—go bright red in anger, contort in fury, dissolve into tears, even, occasionally, light up, like his mother's did when he brought home good marks. But he'd never seen one just_ fall _like that._  
  
 _It made his soul ache._  
  
 _“What happened here?” their mother was asking. “Boys? Answer me! What happened?”_  
  
 _A normal question; she could have asking it about any one of the things they had broken in their eleven years, like the Belleek vase when they were five (Mam had swept the pieces up and never told their father) or the bed they'd jumped on until it broke when they were eight (their father had beat them and made them sleep on the floor until they could afford a new one). But there was nothing normal about this situation. Ianto could feel Iolo's gaze on him, burning him, commanding him._  
  
 _Ianto swallowed hard, watching his grandmother carefully. If she'd been furious, like Tad became over, well, just about everything, or on the verge of hysterics, like Mam, he probably would have covered for Iolo, just like he had always done._  
  
 _But Mam-gu Bethan just looked so sad. Sad for the loss of her cat, but, also Ianto realized, sad for them. She was concerned for_ them. _In the face of such compassion, he just couldn't do it. He couldn't lie to her._  
  
 _He took a deep breath and heard himself say, “Iolo did it. He killed Enid.”_  
  
 _He heard his mother gasp and felt his brother's hand grasp his shoulder, but he didn't look away from his grandmother as he added,_  
  
 _“And she's not the only one.”__  
  
  
Ianto wrenched his eyes open. His heart was pounding just as hard now as it had then, and he struggled to catch his breath. He hadn't thought of that moment in ages, but some part of him had recorded it great detail, for it it had seemed like he had really been back there.  
  
It had been so wonderful to relieve himself of that burden. Despite the guilt he'd felt for tattling, something had lifted inside him and he experienced a lightness that he hadn't felt in years. Not since he'd discovered his beloved Daffodil half-buried in the backyard. He'd been all of seven years old.  
  
  
 _ _Iolo had trotted up at his cry, and had fed him some half-baked story about how Daffodil must have escaped from the house and tried to dig her way to freedom. But one look at his brother's face—cold and closed and oddly triumphant--and Ianto had known the truth. Iolo had never shown the slightest interest in taking care of the pet, preferring to let Ianto do all the work, but Ianto never thought he'd do something like this._  
  
 _Who was he going to tell, though? The hamster was both of their responsibility. They'd be in unthinkable trouble his parents found out that something happened to her. And telling wouldn't bring her back. It'd be better for both of them if he said nothing and just hoped his parents would be too distracted by their dad's drinking, their debt, bills, and all the other things they fought about to notice the hamster was missing. So, swallowing his grief, he'd gone to fetch a spade, and together they'd dug a bigger hole for the body._  
  
 _It had worked. No one had thought to inquire after Daffodil until much later, when she could have plausibly died of old age (which a ten-year-old Ianto had calmly informed his mother that she had). And the brothers had become closer than ever, the knowledge of what they had buried in the back yard_ _serving as glue to bind them together._  
  
 _Which was why, when neighborhood pets started disappearing on a regular basis, Ianto knew his brother was behind that, too. Though at times he desperately wanted to, he'd never said anything to his parents—fear, guilt and loyalty to his brother had always kept him silent. But now he had someone new in his life, someone he intuitively trusted to make things right. Mam-gu would help them, and things would change._  
  
 _Their lives did change after that—irrevocably so. But not in the way young Ianto had hoped._  
  
 _Their visit to Mam-gu's had been cut short, with their dad yanking them out of the house and bundling them into the car, along with a tearful Rhiannon, to take them back home to “deal with this properly." Their grandmother had been powerless to stop him._  
  
 _The ride home was ominously silent, but their father erupted as soon as the front door was closed, screaming obscenities at Iolo for his stupid actions, Ianto for not preventing him, and at Mam for being a failure as a mother in general. Rhia was largely spared, but then she'd fled to her room. Ianto wished he'd been fast enough to do the same._  
  
 _Tad had dragged Iolo up the stairs, threatening to beat the boy with the biggest belt he had. Iolo had fought, but as their tad stood half a head taller and weighed nearly fourteen stone, the boy hadn't had a chance to wriggle free in the confined space of the stairwell._  
  
 _At the top, however, Iolo, fueled by the strength of the truly desperate, had lunged out of his fathers' arms, throwing the man off-balance. Iolo then pivoted and shoved their father down the stairs. Tad had made a hell of a racket coming down, cursing as he hit each step, but was silent once he hit the floor._  
  
 _Ianto and their mother had stared at each other over his slumped form. Ianto wasn't sure whether he was more afraid that Tad was dead, or that he wasn't. Both fears had kept him rooted to the spot. Perhaps his Mam had felt the same way, for it had been Iolo, who had sauntered down the stairs after him, who had made the determination._  
  
 _“Bastard's only sleeping,” he muttered, delivering a viscous kick to their father's stomach. “Dammit.” He looked up and caught sight of Ianto then, and his face twisted into something that didn't look remotely human. He came at Ianto so fast Ianto barely had time to react. He ducked the punch coming at his face, but then Iolo tackled him and knocked him down._  
  
 _“How could you do that? How could you betray me like that,” Iolo shouted. Each word was accompanied by a blow, or an attempt at one, to Ianto's face and chest._  
  
 _“I thought she could help,” Ianto cried, holding up his hands to fend his brother off while trying to twist out from underneath him. “You need help. I thought she could__ help _ _.”_  
  
 _One of Iolo's punches connected with his nose and Ianto had never experienced anything so excruciating. It felt like his nose had shattered into a million pieces. He saw blood fly out, spattering Iolo's face as it loomed over him. He gave up trying to defend himself and curled up into a ball, knowing there was no stopping Iolo when he got like his. His brother seldom lost control, preferring to let his anger simmer for days, weeks, even months while he plotted revenge against those who had hurt him. But when he did unleash it, it was as unstoppable as high tide.  
  
 _The last thing Ianto felt was Iolo banging his head against the floor while Mam yelled for Rhiannon to phone for help. The last thing he saw was Mam's feet coming closer, her brown loafers barely visible through the lights flashing in front of his eyes. Then everything went black._  
  
 _When Ianto woke up, he was in hospital with a concussion and a broken nose._  
  
 _When he'd been released several days later, sporting two black eyes and an ugly contraption to keep his nose in place, he discovered that Iolo had been institutionalized. His father had revived, left the house, and did not return, that night or any night._  
  
 _His mam was left with 17-year-old Rhia, 11-year old Ianto, a mortgage on a house they could barely afford when there were two adults working, and a shop-clerk's salary to cover it all. Less than a month later, Ianto and his mam had gone to London to stay with his mam's sister. Rhia had refused to come and moved in with her older boyfriend instead._  
  
 _Ianto, plunked down in a new school in a new country, learned a valuable lesson in the benefits of starting over from scratch—you can become whoever you want to be. He told his new schoolmates that he was an only child and that his father was a master tailor who traveled around the world to clothe heads of state and other high-ranking political figures._  
  
 _Tad had indeed once been a tailor, but had lost that job because the quality of his work had been going downhill. He'd been working as a janitor when he'd disappeared. Though Ianto taken quite a bit of ribbing for his Welsh accent and called a sheep-shagger and worse, the kids in his class never questioned anything he told them about his family, and for that, he had always been grateful.___  
  
  
A sudden, sharp clanking noise broke Ianto's reverie, the sound painfully loud in the silence of his prison. Then came the harsh rasp of metal on metal, and light flared, impossibly bright, at the other end of the room. He'd instinctively screwed his eyes shut and cringed away from the noise before he was able to process what was happening. A few moments later, his sluggish brain figured out what it meant.  
  
Someone had opened the door.


	20. Chapter 20

Gwen had taken the SUV, so Jack was forced to drive another one of their vehicles, a sleek black saloon car that Ianto had insisted on procuring. Ianto had seen similar ones in the fleet at Torchwood One, though that wasn't an argument in their favor. What was was the fact that they could be tricked-out with nearly as much equipment as the SUV and with its tinted windows, no outside observer would be the wiser.  When Ianto had also pointed out that the boot was large enough to conceal a fully-grown Weevil, Jack had reluctantly agreed to the purchase.  
  
That being said, he still avoided driving the car whenever possible. He always felt like a chauffeur when he was behind the wheel, and today was no different.  
  
It did feel good to be out of the Hub, though.  The weather was unusually sunny, if not particularly warm, and the late-afternoon light gave the city a pleasant, easy-going glow. Jack needed that. He felt anything but easy-going. He'd thought everything would be right again when he had Ianto back but then he'd been beside himself with worry when he'd seen the state of him. Then all he'd wanted was to fix Ianto, and he had made a damn good start. Ianto had even assured him he was alright. But Jack still felt ill-it-ease, like anxiety was wringing its hands his belly. Something was _off,_ and he couldn't put his finger on what.  
  
 _'You'd be off too if a house fell on you too. Give the kid a break,'_ he told himself. Actually, a house had fallen on Jack once, well, it had been more of a space cantina, really. But a building all the same. He couldn't remember how he'd been afterward, though John Hart probably would. And wasn't that the point? He couldn't remember, and if the reports of his old drinking buddies were anything to go by, a loss of memory was usually synonymous with erratic behavior.  
  
But it wasn't Ianto's memory loss, his confusing the Autopsy room for his flat, his desire for jumpers, or even not wanting to kiss him that was bothering Jack—those things could all be explained by his injuries and the pain he had to be experiencing, even though he claimed he wasn't. No, it was the way Ianto had been _looking_ at him when he'd thought Jack wasn't paying attention that disturbed him most. Ianto's eyes had been cold and distant, completely absent of the usual range of emotions that dwelt there.  
  
Even at the nadir of their relationship, right after Jack had pumped bullets into Ianto's cyber girlfriend and suspended him for a month, Ianto had never looked like that. Angry, hurt, betrayed, and as reality had set in, depressed, yes, but never distant or cold.  
  
Perhaps this new expression could be explained by the trauma he'd suffered as well? Jack didn't know. He really should get in touch with Martha—as a doctor, perhaps she could shed some light on the subject. For now, it would be a relief to get to the park and punch the hell out of something.    
  
When he arrived, however, there were no Weevils in sight. Just an elderly couple birding by one of the ponds, a few men in their early twenties messing around on the rugby pitch, and Gwen and Andy, standing by the SUV.  
  
“Hey, guys,” Jack called as he approached them. “I thought we had company?” He looked around pointedly.  
  
“Sorted,” Gwen said. As she glanced up at him, Jack realized how wan she looked. There were dark circles under her eyes, her clothes were rumpled, and, standing next to the strapping young Welshman, she looked quite fragile.  
  
 _'She's lost weight,'_ Jack realized. _'And she didn't have much to spare.'_  
  
Guilt shot through him. What the hell was he doing to his Team? Neglecting them, killing them, one by one...  
  
Andy interrupted his thoughts. “If you mean our two overlarge friends, we took care of them, with some assistance from those blokes.” He nodded at the footballers, who had left off kicking the ball and were now ogling a pair of young women walking by.  
  
“They welcomed the chance to show off a bit when they saw Gwen and I had our hands full. When we were done, Gwen opened the boot and passed around some whisky to show our appreciation.”  
  
Owen had kept that for “medical purposes”, Jack remembered. Doubtless it had been laced with a little Retcon before Gwen had given it to their new friends. He nodded at Gwen. “Good work. You too, Andy.”  
  
Andy arched a brow. “I'm just glad I don't have to drink some myself. Bit early for me. Although I guess I should be wondering if this is safe?” He nodded at the bottle of water he was holding.  
  
“Never, Andy!” Gwen laughed, but then stopped at Jack's frown.  
  
“Never say never, Gwen. But no, Andy. Your assistance is appreciated. Your water is safe for today.”  
  
“Good. Because I have some information for you. Be a bit awkward if I suddenly forgot it.”  
  
“You have information and you brought it to the park? That's so cold-war of you. Why didn't you just call me?"  
  
Andy pulled a face. “I phoned Gwen to go over it with her, and she said she was searching for something and asked me to meet her here.  As soon as I pulled up we got company.”  
  
“Just tell me what you found. I presume it's about Ianto's accident?”  
  
“Yeah. Something's was bugging me about it, so I returned to the scene. I poked around a bit and found these.” He held up a clear plastic zip-lock bag marked “evidence.”  
  
“What am I looking at?”  
  
“The remains of a pipe bomb that was under a pile of rubble, waiting to be sorted."  
  
Jack stared at it. “A pipe bomb? As in a homemade bomb? But that makes no sense. Why go to all the trouble to bomb on a house that's going to be torn down in a few days anyway?  
  
“Good question.”  
  
Jack studied the contents of the bag. “I might have rigged a few of those in my time. Well, not pipe bombs, but something similar. They usually leave certain traces behind, things that can help identify where the parts came from, even the maker. Got anything from this one?”  
  
“We're checking out a few leads, but the investigation still in the early stages. I'm taking it back now so the specialists can have a go. It looks like our bomb-maker followed a common recipe, readily available online. Anyone with Internet access is a suspect at this point.”  
  
“Well, that narrows it down.”  
  
“We're following up with the shops to see if the supplies were purchased locally—it's a pretty distinctive list. Someone might remember it. But those could have been ordered online as well.”  
  
Jack's mind was racing ahead. “So what are we looking at? A prank? Would-be-terrorists practicing their skills?”  
  
“Possible, but not likely. While the recipe is simple enough to follow, it's dangerous to assemble and requires considerable skill to actually pull off without blowing yourself up. That alone is enough to deter your garden-variety pranksters. And there've been no reports of terrorist activity in Cardiff beyond what happened six weeks ago, and you assured me that those responsible for that are gone.”  
  
“They are,” Jack said firmly. “So someone, not a prankster or a terrorist, deliberately rigged that house to explode. Why? What would they get out of it? And what about Ianto? That he just happened to be there when they set it off is one hell of coincidence.”  
  
“I agree. At first I thought he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, but now I wonder.”  
  
Gwen spoke up. “Perhaps someone was targeting Torchwood? Jack, you said yourself there were an unusual number of Weevil sightings in that area. What if someone was manipulating them, trying to lure into a trap?”  
  
“It wouldn't be the first time,” Jack said with a grim expression.  
  
“Can you manipulate Weevils?” Andy asked in surprise.  
  
“To an extent,” Jack said. “Put something out that they like to eat, and they'll come.”  
  
“What do they like to eat?”  
  
“You really don't want to know,” Gwen said, wrinkling her nose.  
  
“Let's just say, they're nature's ultimate recyclers. They'll eat any animal living or dead, but they like the waste of other animals the best," Jack said. “We're getting off-track, though.”  
  
“Why don't we check history of the house?” Gwen suggested. “Find out who's lived there. Maybe we'll find a connection to Torchwood.”  
  
“Good idea. Do it!” Gwen opened the door of the SUV, slid into the back, and started typing on a keyboard.  
  
“Got it. Jack, Andy, look at this! Here are the names of every owner going back to the day it was built. See anything familiar?”  
  
Jack scanned the list. “Bran and Rhonda Baines were the original owners. They passed it down to their their son, Lloyd Baines, who eventually sold it on to a Roderick Morgan... nothing's ringing a bell.”  
  
“Keep reading,” Gwen said.  
  
“...It was eventually bought by Iefan and Bethan Jones in 1979.” Jack read. “Wait, Iefan Jones?”  
  
“'Ianto' is a variation of 'Iefan',” Gwen pointed out. “It's a common enough name, as is Jones, but there might be something there. Did Ianto ever mention the house, or any relatives by those names to you?”  
  
“He doesn't talk much about his past. I think it's time we go back to the Hub and get him to open up. Andy, can you do some more digging, find out everything you can about the Iefan Jones family? It's the best lead we've got.”  
  
Andy nodded.  
  
“Good. Gwen, you're driving us back the Hub in the SUV.  I'm going to try calling Ianto on the way.  There's no time to waste!”  
  
Gwen jumped into the driver's seat. Jack slid into the passenger side, pulling his mobile out of his pocket as he sat. His finger was already pressing the speed dial button before he remembered that Ianto's mobile had gone missing when he had. Gwen had tried tracing it to no avail.  
  
 _'Should have given him a new headset, just in case,'_ he chided himself.  
  
He'd wanted Ianto to rest, though, and not worry about what he and Gwen were doing. Which reminded him...  
  
“Say, what happened to that object you went to find?”  
  
“Never did. It disappeared from the scanner as soon as I arrived at the park.”  
  
“Normally I wouldn't say this, but.... good. We've got enough on our plate right now.”  
  
He would just have to call the Hub phones and hope that Ianto answered. He'd start with Ianto's extension and ring every desk there until he did.


	21. Chapter 21

Ianto squinted in the glare of the light, but he couldn't make out more than a featureless silhouette until the person was crouched down right in front of him. Even then it was the voice, not the hazy details of light and shadow that swam before him, that gave the identity of his visitor away.  
  
“Hello, Ianto. Long time no see.”  
  
The voice was Ianto's own, just a shade higher in pitch and slightly more nasal in tone. It was rather like listening to himself on a tape recording. There was only one person in his life that had ever sounded like that.  
  
 _'Iolo.'_  
  
It was surprising how unsurprising it was to see him. The whole time he'd been a captive _(how long had it been, anyway?)_ he had never once considered Iolo to be a suspect, so seeing the brother he hadn't seen in fifteen years standing there should have been more shocking. His unconscious mind must have figured it out however, for it had been projecting Iolo on the back of Ianto's eyelids for so long that seeing the flesh and blood version didn't startle him a bit. It felt like just another dream. He couldn't be positive that it wasn't one, in fact.  
  
Until Iolo reached down, wrenched his head back, and ripped the tape off his mouth. The pain of having his already throbbing-head jostled, combined with some of the skin being ripped from his dry lips was excruciating, and jolted him into full awareness.  
  
Iolo tossed the tape aside and then peered down at Ianto expectantly.  
  
Ianto stared back. Despite all the time that had passed, looking at Iolo was still like looking in a mirror, right down to the watch cap and peacoat he was wearing. Except this reflection was a mess. Between the black eye, split lip, myriad of cuts, and arm cradled close to his body, it looked like Iolo had been in the mother of all bar fights, or some sort of accident.  
  
 _'He looks as bad as I feel,'_ Ianto thought. But why would that be? Had Iolo staged a violent breakout from Providence Park? If so, why hadn't it been on the news? Perhaps he'd simply been released and then had picked a fight with the wrong person. It wouldn't be the first time.  
.  
Ianto had so many questions, but he forced himself to stay silent. _'Let the hostage-taker take the lead.'_ If Iolo started talking maybe he could figure out what the hell was going on. Besides, his mouth and throat were so dry he wasn't sure he what would come out if he tried.  
  
As if he could read his thoughts, Iolo rummaged in a bag on the floor and produced a bottle of water. When he held it aloft, the light coming in the door shone through it, giving the bottle a divine glow. Ianto thought he'd never seen anything so beautiful in his life.  
  
Despite himself, a little moan escaped him, and Iolo chuckled.  
  
“I thought you might be thirsty. Here, let's get you sitting up first. Wouldn't want you to choke on it and drown. That'd be a bit ironic, after all the trouble I went through.”  
  
Iolo shoved his good arm under Ianto's shoulder and helped him sit up, and then brought the bottle to Ianto's lips.  
  
The water slid across Ianto's tongue, cool and delicious, and he realized he'd never truly appreciated what a miracle two hydrogen atoms plus one oxygen atom created until that moment. He sucked down some more, and then he did choke.  
  
Iolo pounded him on the back and dark spots appeared before Ianto's eyes. He leaned forward, trying to evade Iolo's hand, and shook his head wildly, still coughing. Iolo stopped, and finally the spasms subsided. Ianto sat up again and nodded. Iolo gave him another blessed drink, then he pulled the bottle out of reach.  
  
Ianto followed it with his gaze, pleading without words.  
  
'That's enough for now, I think. You'll get sick if you drink too much, and we wouldn't want that, would we?” Iolo spoke slowly and with exaggerated gentleness, like he was talking to a child. Something about the false solicitousness pushed Ianto’s anger over the edge, and his resolve to keep silent went right out the window.  
  
'Funny way to show you care,” he snarled, or tried to. It came out more of a croak, with some words so faint they were barely audible.  
  
Iolo seemed to have no problem understanding him. “I don't. Care, that is. Any more than you do. Fifteen years and not a single visit. So much for brotherly love.”  
  
“I couldn’t,” Ianto said, and then shut his mouth. It was so much more complicated than that, but he wasn't about to pour his heart out under these conditions.  
  
“I'm sure,” Iolo snorted. “Because your life was so hard. But that's all water under the bridge now. We have more important things to discuss. Come on, let's make you more comfortable.”  
  
Iolo moved closer, but any hopes that Iolo would untape him were dashed when he merely grasped Ianto's shoulders and dragged him to the wall, then positioned him so that he was propped up against it.  
  
“There, that's better. All comfy, then?”  
  
“What do you want, Iolo?” Ianto rasped.  
  
“Oh, so many things. Things you can't even conceive of, clearly, or you'd have them for yourself already.”  
  
“You won't get them.”  
  
Iolo laughed, a sharp bark that echoed off the walls of the storage container.  
  
“That's where you're wrong. I have what I set out to get already. Everything else will just be icing on the cake.”  
  
“So what's that, then?”  
  
Iolo leaned in so close Ianto could feel his breath on his cheek. “Your life.”  
  
A chill went down Ianto's spine as his hopes faded. This wasn't business, it was personal, and Iolo wasn't planning to let him walk away from it. It made sense in a sick sort of way. Iolo had never been one to do things half-way.  
  
“So you want to kill me, then,” Ianto said. “Seems like a lot of trouble to go through because I didn't come visit.”  
  
Iolo laughed again.  
  
“Not your death, your _life_! Well, all right, I want your death too. And I will have it. But what I really want is your identity—your flat, your job, your not-inconsiderable bank account—all of it. In exchange for what was taken from me.”  
  
Ianto stared into his brother's eyes, so like his own, except he saw a glint there, a certain light, that he was certain had never, even his wildest moments, graced his own. It was the glint of someone who wasn't held back by things like empathy, affection, or even a conscience.  
  
“It'll never work,” Ianto said. “I have people who love me. People who care. You'll never fool them.”  
  
“You mean Jack? Gwen? Your landlady, the lovely Miss Lilian? I've got news for you, Ianto. I already have fooled them. And they've given me everything I want.”  
  
 _'He knows about Lilian?'_  
  
“You're lying.”  
  
“Am I? Look at what I'm wearing, Ianto. Take a good look. The hat, the coat—recognize them? You should. They're yours. The scrubs—recognize them? They're from the Hub. How would I be wearing them if I hadn't already been inside? Jack put them on me himself, after he cut away what was left of your suit. Sorry about that by the way. That was a nice one—must have set you back a pretty penny.”  
  
“No. That's not possible,” Ianto protested. But he believed him. God help him, he believed him.  
  
“And not only do I have those, I have _these_.”  
  
Iolo fumbled in the bag and fished out a set of keys that dangled from a red plastic “L”. “Recognize them? Or maybe you never had to borrow your landlady's spare set of keys before.”  
  
Ianto had, in fact, borrowed those keys before. There was no mistaking that keychain. His mouth dropped open, and his head fell back and hit the metal will with a “thunk.”  
  
“What's the matter, brother? You've gone all pale. Need another drink?”  
  
Iolo raised the bottle, and Ianto, hating himself for being so helpless, nodded, then leaned forward and took a long pull from it. Each drink, far from slaking his thirst, seemed to increase it. His body didn't want to let the bottle go. He bit down when Iolo tried to pull it away and Iolo wrenched it, causing water to spill.  
  
Ianto sputtered.  
  
“I told you to take it easy with that,” Iolo chided, brushing off the sleeve of Ianto's coat, then reached out as if to pound Ianto's back again. Ianto pressed himself flat against the wall, as far out of reach as he could get.  
  
“The others. Jack, Gwen, Lilian—if you've harmed them...” Ianto began when he could speak again.  
  
“How cute. But why should I harm them? I told you. They believe I'm you. They opened every door I needed--literally and figuratively.”  
  
“Even if that's true, you can't keep it up forever,” Ianto said. “You're not me. You don't know anything about me past the age of eleven. You’re bound to slip up. And when Jack finds out--and he will--he will kill you if you hurt me.  
  
“Chilling thought. But not to worry. I know more than you think. You see, I found that lock-box that you keep on top of your wardrobe. Who knew you were such an avid diarist? Mam-gu would be proud. She always thought you showed promise as a writer.”  
  
Ianto's eyes blazed. “How dare you mention her!”  
  
“How dare _I?_ That's rich. Anyway, it seemed like some volumes were missing, but I found enough to be getting on with. Care to tell me where the rest of them are?”  
  
Ianto glared at him.  
  
“Thought not. It doesn't matter. If I run into a situation where I can't fake it—and believe me, I expect there will be few of those--that's where this comes in handy.” Iolo tugged the edge of the cap up to indicate his bandaged forehead. “A bad knock on the noggin can explain so much, from personality changes to amnesia. Poor old Ianto's been a terrible accident. He'll probably never be the same,” Iolo said, with a dramatic sigh.  
  
“You're sick! You'll never get away with this!”  
  
“Well, the first part's true enough. I _am_ sick, or so the doctors believe. You believe it too, don't you? Is that why you never came to visit? Afraid it was catching?”  
  
Ianto's mind was racing. If Iolo had found his diaries he was screwed. Jack had made him destroy every diary that had to do with Torchwood One and the Cyberwoman that Lisa had become--Ianto himself thrown them in the incinerator with her body as a sort of penance. But that left over a year's worth of diaries from his tenure Torchwood Three to mine for personal tidbits, as well as various volumes from his teens and early twenties. Ianto had been quite prolific, and Iolo had always been a good liar.  
  
Ianto needed no more convincing that Iolo had been successful—successful enough to not only get into the Hub, but to get out again. So what did that mean for the real Ianto? He recalled what Iolo had stated so matter-of-factually earlier.  
  
“You're going to kill me.”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Ianto closed his eyes. This wasn't how he'd pictured dying. Somehow he'd always hoped when the end came it would be more spectacular. He didn't have go out a hero--that would be expecting too much (and Ianto never tried to expect too much)--but he'd hoped that his death would make a difference to someone. Dying like this would make a difference to no one but the madman before him. Those closest to him wouldn't even know he was gone!  
  
Ianto sighed, and opened his eyes.  
  
“How?”  
  
“That, my brother, is up to you.”  
  
“I don't understand.”  
  
Iolo reached into the pocket, and he produced Ianto's gun. Ianto's eyes went wide.  
  
“We can either do it the easy way....” Iolo lifted the gun and pointed it at Ianto's forehead. Staring up into it, the barrel looked enormous. It filled Ianto's vision, and he froze.  
  
“...Or the hard way.” Iolo lowered the weapon, letting it dangle casually from his right hand.  
  
Ianto struggled to swallow. Any bit of moisture he'd gotten from the water had disappeared at the sight of the gun.  
  
“I still don't understand,” he managed.  
  
“I'll break it down for you, shall I? I need some information from you. I'm sure I could eventually figure it out on my own, or get someone else to tell me, but it will make things so much easier if you just give it to me. In exchange for it, I'll shoot you in the head. A quick, clean death. That's the easy way.”  
  
“Only you would think that was easy," Ianto gasped.  
  
Iolo ignored the jibe. “If you don't tell me what I need, well, I'll tape you back up and just... leave you here. They say death by dehydration is one of the most excruciating ways to go. You've already experienced some of the symptoms, haven't you? Intense thirst? Fever? Hallucinations? Well, it's going to get so much worse. And it will take _days_.”  
  
“What do you want to know?”  
  
“Just a few passcodes **.** The PIN to your bankcard. The log-ins to your laptop and your work computer. Plus any more that I might need once I'm in the system, and doing your job around Torchwood. And don't even think about giving me the wrong ones.”  
  
Iolo raised the gun again for emphasis.  
  
“We'll start with your laptop. I brought it with me, you see. From there we'll log into your bank, and the Hub's computers. Once I'm satisfied that I can get in anytime I want, I'll put you out of your misery. Try to fuck with me, and I'll make things even worse for you before I go.”  
  
He moved the gun to Ianto's knee and ground the barrel into the bone. Ianto gasped as pain shot up his leg but forced himself to remain still.  
  
“I could just as easily leave you with a non-lethal wound or two to remember me by.” He dug the gun in again for emphasis.  
  
“You don't have to do this. I'll tell you whatever you want to know. I'll help you. You don't have to kill me.”  
  
“That's the spirit! I must say, I'm pleased that you decided to be so cooperative. But regardless, I do have to kill you. There can't be two Ianto Joneses, can there? One of us has to go.”  
  
“No! There's another way.”  
  
“No, there isn't. I've thought of every possible scenario. There isn't one where I can trust you to walk away from this alive.”  
  
“Please! Just listen for a minute.”  
  
Iolo tilted his head to the side. “Very well. Go ahead. Tell me you've thought of something I haven't. Try to prove you're cleverer than me. You never were, you know. But it will be fun to see you try.”  
  
Ianto took a deep, shaking breath. Everything depended on what he was about to say next.  
  
“Because you'd giving me what I want too.”  
  
“Your life, you mean? Not enough. I'm supposed to think you'd be grateful enough to be alive that you'd never to betray me, that you wouldn't run to the first authority figure you see and spill your guts? Think again, brother. I know you. You'll betray me as soon as my back is turned.”  
  
“I'm not talking about just my life. I'm talking about my life free of _Torchwood_.”  
  
The sun had moved overhead so that it was nearly dark in the container now, but the cold glitter of Iolo's eyes was visible enough. Ianto thought snakes must look like that when they are deciding whether to strike.  
  
“Go on."


	22. Chapter 22

Ianto shifted position, trying to get some blood flowing into his legs, which were stuck straight out in front of him. He was rewarded with a pins-and-needles sensation in his feet that almost made him wish he hadn't. He desperately wanted Iolo to remove the tape, but one look at his brother's face, as cool and still as a mask, without a shred of compassion, made him realize that wasn't going to happen. This, what he was about to say, was his best shot. Maybe his only shot.  
  
Ianto leaned forward and forced himself to meet Iolo's eyes.  
  
“You've seen Torchwood, you've been inside the Hub. But you don't know what it's really like. You can't, not until you've been there awhile. At first it seems like a lad's dream job, playing with fancy tech and big guns, but it's not. It's nothing but a prison.”  
  
“Take it from one whose been locked up most of his life, Ianto,” Iolo sneered. “That's no prison.”  
  
“It doesn't look like one, no. But it is. When you join Torchwood, you join for life. There's no changing your mind or deciding you want to make a mid-career switch. In fact, there is no mid-career for most of us. Torchwood kills young. I've been with Torchwood for only four years, and every single person I've ever worked with is either dead or so mentally or physically crippled they don't have any sort of life. Jack and Gwen are the only exceptions. And believe me, they're more damaged than they appear.”  
  
“They're weak, then.”  
  
“No. They're two of the strongest people I’ve ever known. But it's only a matter of time before they break, too. We just lost two of our colleagues, Tosh and Owen...” Ianto stumbled over the names and broke off, not needing to fake the emotion that made it difficult to speak. He was counting on it coming up, in fact, as it always did when he thought of them. But that didn't make it any easier to bear. He took a deep breath and savored the effortless way it flowed into his lungs when he could breathe with his mouth open.  
  
“...Tosh and Owen were killed in the line of duty six weeks ago and nothing's been the same.” He sniffled, or tried to, but was too dehydrated. A runny nose and no way to wipe it was one indignity he was spared, at least, though that was small comfort at the moment.  
  
“You're weak too. You always were entirely too sentimental.”  
  
“That’s my point. I'm not cut out for this kind of thing. I’ve wanted to leave a million times but I can’t just quit.” Ianto took another deep breath. “When I joined Torchwood London it was as a junior researcher. It was no different than working for an investment bank or any large corporation, really. Sure, the research I was doing was on the history of aliens in Wales rather than market trends, but I spent my days working on a computer or filing things in the archives. I was happy then. But it didn't stay that way. Torchwood London was attacked and fell, so I moved to Torchwood Cardiff. Now I'm in the line of fire every day, and I hate it. I don't want to die young!”  
  
“I believe that. You're no hero. You never were.”  
  
Ianto nodded. “So you see, if you take my place, I can disappear. I can leave Torchwood and no one will come looking for me, because they won't know I'm gone! You can count on me not blowing your cover because I'd be blowing my own cover as well. It's perfect!” Ianto opened his eyes wide, projecting hope and sincerity with every fiber of his being.  
  
Iolo studied him.  
  
“What about the Captain?”  
  
“What about him?”  
  
“You two are shagging.”  
  
 _'Shit. He knows! Of course he knows. He's read my diaries. No point in denying it then. Try another angle.'_  
  
“I have to. You've met him; you've seen what he's like. He's attracted to everything that moves and he's a man who is used to getting what he wants. You probably noticed that too. Well, he wanted me from the day we first met. I had a girlfriend then, but that didn't matter to Jack.”  
  
The best lies had kernels of truth in them.  
  
Iolo laughed. “You make it sound like you have no feelings for him, that you would just walk away from him. That's a lie.”  
  
Ianto shook his head. “No, it’s not. I do care for him. He's a hell of a shag, as you probably read.” Ianto suppressed a shudder at that thought. “But he's not worth dying over. He—he doesn't feel the same way about me.”  
  
That admission hurt. It was something he barely admitted to himself.  
  
“So you're, what, the secretary he chases around the desk when it’s convenient? Poor little Ianto.”  
  
Ianto ignored the sarcasm. As dismissive as Iolo's statement was, it was nothing worse than he'd thought himself. He had no trouble letting the hurt show in his eyes.  
  
“Honestly? Yeah. And I've put up with it long enough. I want out.”  
  
“Funny, he didn't look at me--you--like someone who's just a convenient shag. And he certainly didn't treat me like one. The way he fussed about, it was like I was someone he couldn't bear to lose.”  
  
“He did?”  
  
Iolo snorted.  
  
“Oh God, you're in love with him, aren't you? Despite the way he treats you. The way your face lit up just now.”  Iolo stood and started pacing.  
  
Ianto stared after him, dismayed. How was it that Iolo was still able to read him so well after all this time, when no one else could read him at all?  
  
“No, I'm not.”  
  
“Yes, you are, and you'll never leave him,” Iolo muttered, more to himself more than Ianto.  “Not when that the idea of him fussing over me--you--makes you so happy. Fuck all, you haven't changed a bit. Throw a little affection Ianto's way and he's yours forever.”  
  
Iolo came to rest, looming over Ianto. Ianto closed his eyes. Iolo crouched down, took Ianto's chin in his hand, and squeezed. Pain shot through Ianto’s jaw, and he was forced to open his eyes and meet Iolo's gaze. It was as cold as a distant blue star.  
  
“Poor, pathetic Ianto, in love with the boss. You know what? He may even love you back, in his own way. But I'll tell you this—he couldn't tell the difference between us when he kissed me.”  
  
“That's not true!” Ianto jerked his head away, then tried to twist his body to get out of reach. Iolo easily stopped him by pressing his foot, incongruously clad in Ianto's dress shoe and no sock, to Ianto's chest.  
  
“Easy there, brother. Of course it's true. As you said, Jack's a man of needs, and he gets what he wants. And he was so glad to have you back. Why wouldn't he kiss me?”  
  
Why wouldn't he, indeed? And he hadn't known the difference...  Despair welled up in Ianto then, and he bit his lip to keep it inside. He stopped when he felt blood trickle down his chin. He was falling apart, inside and out. His ploy to get Iolo to let him go wasn't working. What was the point in stalling any longer? Jack didn't even know he was missing. He was probably just relaxing in the Hub waiting for Iolo to come back so he could kiss him again.  
  
“Nice try, Ianto.” Iolo crouched down so that they were nose to nose again. “And while I do respect you for making an effort, you always were a lousy liar.” Without warning, Iolo drew back his arm and  punched Ianto in the jaw. The impact sent Ianto reeling to the right. If he hadn't already been seated he would have toppled over.  
  
Ianto cried out as fireworks exploded behind his eyes. He spit blood, then struggled to right himself while the world spun around him. When he could finally see straight, he discovered that Iolo was sat cross-legged in front of him with Ianto’s work laptop positioned across his thighs.  
  
“We've wasted enough time. Now you are going to give me the passcodes, starting with the one to this, unless you want more of the same.” He tapped the laptop with his index finger, and then looked at Ianto speculatively. “Do you want more of the same?”  
  
“No,” Ianto moaned, sounding as broken as he felt. “C-could I have some more water first?”  
  
Iolo huffed, but retrieved the bottle and positioned it so that Ianto could drink. Ianto, mindful of what had happened last time, took a few careful swallows and then nodded to indicate he was done.  
  
Iolo set the bottle aside and opened the laptop. “Well, let's have it then.”  
  
Ianto leaned in as close as he could, then spat a mouthful of bloody water in Iolo's face.


	23. Chapter 23

Jack nearly broke the door to the Tourist Office down in his impatience to get inside. Ianto hadn't answered any of his calls, and the suspicion that something was wrong had been growing inside him the whole ride back.

“Jack, you have to pull the door toward you, _then_ turn the key,” Gwen reminded him.

Jack growled and rattled the door in its frame. Gwen took the key from him and opened the door, then stepped aside as he pushed by. He slammed his palm against the concealed button that activated the door in to the Hub, and took off down the corridor with Gwen, who stopped to properly lock the door again, trailing behind.

“Ianto?” Jack bellowed as the cog wheel door opened. “Ianto!”

There was no reply.

Jack dashed into the main area of the Hub, and caught sight of the couch where he'd left Ianto.The food, books, and medical supplies were there, untouched as far as Jack could see.

“Where is he? IANTO!”

“Maybe he's just gone to the loo, Jack,” Gwen pointed out. “Why don't you check there, while I call up the CCTV.”

“Good idea.”

By the time Jack had checked both toilets on the main level, Gwen had called up the internal feeds.

“Jack! You'll want to come see this.”

Jack fidgeted as Gwen set the recording to play back at twice the regular speed, then watched in astonishment as their injured colleague jumped to his feet, took a long look around the Hub, then strode to a workstation and sat down.

“What's he doing at Owen's desk?” Jack wondered.

“No idea. It looks like he started to do something and then changed his mind?”

That Ianto would return to the Autopsy Bay wasn't so strange, Jack supposed. But there was no getting around the fact that placing all his things, plus a few bottles of water, in a plastic bag, was.

“He's packing? Gwen asked. “Whatever for? He looks like a little kid getting ready to run away from home.”

Jack watched Ianto take a roundabout route to the cupboard where his coat was and put it on, then collect his laptop from the lounge.

“It does, doesn't it?"

Their theory was reinforced when Ianto approach the giant cog wheel and pressed the panel that opened the door.

“Outside view!” Jack ordered, and Gwen hurried to comply. 

“There he is,” she said. “Leaving the Tourist Office.”

“Where did he go?”

“Hang on.” Various views of the Plass flickered across the screen. “Got him! Standing on the corner, there. It looks like he's trying to hail a cab.”

“Not trying. Succeeding.” Jack said, watching the grainy figure get into a vehicle. “Gwen, track that cab using the traffic light cameras. I'm going after it.”

Jack had already picked up the keys to the SUV and was heading for the door when Gwen said, “Wait, I'm going with you.”

“No you're not! I need you here to monitor those cameras and tell me where to go.”

“Or we could find out where that cab is headed and meet it there. It'd be better if both of us were there when we find Ianto, no? He might need our help.”

“You'd have to hack into the taxi dispatch to get that information. Do you even know how to do that? Because I don't!”

“I could figure it out...”

“We don't have time!”

“ _But_ there's no need, I was going to say.” Gwen pulled her phone from her pocket and held it up.

“Ex-police officer, remember? I've got contacts. Big Glen at the dispatch is an old friend of mine. He'll tell us what we need to know.”

Jack blinked, and then gave Gwen a quick, approving smile.

“Good! Let's go. I'll drive; you can call him on the way!”

He was in such a rush he forgot to ask the obvious until they were strapping their seatbelts on.

“So, why do they call him Big Glen, anyway?” Jack inquired, mouth quirking upwards.

“Oh you!” Gwen punched Jack on the arm. “Quiet, it's ringing!”

\---- ---- ---- ----

Andy had just barely made it back to the station when his mobile rang. Somehow, he was unsurprised to see it was “Cooper, G.”

“Miss me already?”

“Andy, listen. Ianto's wandered off. We're following him...”

“Wandered off? How'd he manage that? Last I heard he was unconscious and Jack was going to keep him that way. For his own good and all?”

“He woke up,” she said shortly. “And he left while we were out meeting with you. He's in a cab heading to the Barry Docks. We don't think he's, well, we don't think he's in his right mind. Could you get some officers and meet us there? We need to find him as soon as possible.”

“The Barry Docks? What would he want with that place? Knock on the head must have made him daft. But at least he had the sense not to drive himself. I wish more people would hail a cab when they were impaired. Make my job a lot easier.”

“Andy,” Andy could hear the tension in Gwen's voice, so he got serious.

“Already radioing in, Gwen. Don't worry. Maybe he's just gone down to watch the ships. I had an uncle that did that, you know.”

“Your uncle Dil was senile,” Gwen reminded him.

“True. He did enjoy it though. Said it always calmed him down.”

“Andy!”

“Right. I'm on my way.”


	24. Chapter 24

Iolo stared at his brother coolly, making no move to brush away the water he could feel dripping down his face. He had learned long ago that _not_ reacting to provocation was often more intimidating than a display of aggression. And it bought him time to assess the situation.

He didn't like what he saw. It had all come down to this moment, and Ianto wasn't cooperating.

It figured.

Ianto hadn't changed a bit. He still insisted on choosing someone else over Iolo.  He had chosen Mam-gu and that cunt of a cat over him when him when they were eleven, and he was choosing Captain America and Torchwood now. Hell, he'd probably choose that toothless hag of a landlady over Iolo. Iolo had thought a little pain and suffering might persuade Ianto to see things Iolo's way, but no.

Well, Iolo hadn't changed either. He had always held grudges, and the object of the biggest grudge of his life was sitting right in front of him now, helpless. Defiant, but helpless. And revenge was so sweet.

“You shouldn't have done that,” Iolo stated.

Ianto stared back, and Iolo saw the fear that lurked just underneath the bravado. Ianto had run out of options and he knew it.

Slowly, deliberately, Iolo set the laptop on the ground, then picked up the gun and wedged it between his thighs. He braced it with his left wrist and disengaged the safety with his right hand. He lifted the gun and pointed at his brother.

Ianto's face twisted. Tears welled in his eyes, glistening faintly the dim light. He opened his mouth and his throat worked, but nothing came out.

“Speak up. I can't hear you.”

“I'm sorry,” Ianto whispered.

“And?” Iolo prompted.

“Iolo, I'm so sorry.”

“Sorry you're about to die?”

“Sorry for everything. I never meant for things to work out the way they did.”

“Saying you're sorry doesn't fix anything, Ianto. It's just words. You can show me you're sorry, though. Give me the passcodes.”

A single tear slid down Ianto's cheek. He shook his head.

“No.”

Iolo had waited for this moment for fifteen years--the moment Ianto's fate would rest in his hands. He always knew he wouldn't be merciful.

“Then I don't accept your apology.”

Iolo fired.


	25. Chapter 25

Gwen grew visibly anxious as they approached the Docks.  
  
“Jack? Why would Ianto come here? Do you think he's remembering? Reliving the past, somehow?”  
  
Jack glanced over at her and saw she'd gone paler than usual. “Remembering what?” was on the tip of his tongue, and then he cursed himself for not figuring it out sooner. The Docks! She'd been poisoned by John Hart and left in a storage container there. If not for Ianto's dogged searching and Owen's medical skills, she would have died, locked in her own paralyzed body, unable even to scream.  
  
Of course he'd been dead himself at the time, so perhaps he could be forgiven for not immediately making the connection between their destination and her anxiety. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder.  
  
“You mean, do you think the knock on the head is making him think it's a year ago? It's possible. I've heard of far stranger things happening, like people who begin speaking in a foreign language they never learned or thinking they're kids again. Why bring the laptop, though, and the water? It's more likely he went looking for a private place to rest and search the Net for porn.”  
  
Gwen pulled a face. “That doesn't sound like Ianto.”  
  
Jack chuckled. “You have no idea. It's always the quiet ones.”  
  
“Jack!”  
  
“Sorry. You're right, though, it's not like Ianto. The slipping off  without telling one of us, I mean. Well, we're here now. Hopefully we'll have some answers soon!”  
  
Jack pulled into the main parking area and called up a map of the Docks on the Sat Nav.    
  
“Right, this place is huge, so we need to split up. Why don't you go to the offices, see who's home, and let them know we're looking for someone on their property. See if they have any CCTV while you're at it—that would be a big help. I'll start searching this section here, where the ships come in. As crazy as it sounds, we can't discount the fact that Ianto might be planning to stow away or something. When Andy and his crew get there, they can start checking the storage containers.”  
  
“OK, Jack,” Gwen said, still looking apprehensive.  
  
“Don't worry. It's going to be all right. We'll find him.”  
  
Gwen nodded, and made to open her door.  
  
“Oh, and Gwen?” Gwen turned back, a questioning look on her face.  
  
“If you see any handsome sailors, be sure to send them my way.”  
  
Gwen rolled her eyes and opened the door, and Jack grinned after her. His grin faded as soon as she was out of the car.  
  
\---- ---- ---- ----  
  
Andy’s call had yielded two officers, with two more on the way from Swansea, and Kavanaugh, who was en-route from his home. It had been his day off, but to his credit, he hadn't complained about that. He'd had plenty to say, however, when he found out his target was the same man from the house collapse.  
  
“What do you mean, you lost him again? Losing him once I can see, but twice—that's just plain irresponsible.” However, he'd promised to meet Andy at the docks as soon as he could.  
  
Even divided up between the six of them, the search area was enormous.  
  
 _'It'll be like finding the Ark of the Covenant in the government warehouse,'_ he thought with a groan, as he studied the amount of rows he'd assigned himself. _'Still, we have to try. Not sure what Ianto would want with old shipping containers, but then Torchwood doesn't exactly tell me everything, do they?”_  
  
Seventeen containers in, he'd gotten nothing for his efforts but rust on his gloves, mud on his boots, and had seen no living beings save for a pack of rats that had dashed away, squeaking indignantly, when he approached. He hoped Jack was having better luck.  
  
But then he rounded a corner and saw a figure heading in his direction. Two meters tall, wearing a black peacoat, black watch cap and white trousers, with his arm in a sling—he'd sent that description over his radio not an hour before. There was no mistaking Ianto.  
  
“Hello!” Andy called, raising his hand in greeting. Ianto nodded, then turned left, and started walking toward the main road.  
  
“Ianto? Ianto!” Andy called after him.  
  
Ianto checked his watch and picked up his pace, but did not look back. Andy almost called to him again, but then hesitated.  
  
Something strange was going on here. There hadn't been a hint of recognition in Ianto's face. Andy knew that Ianto wasn't the effusive sort but he's always been exceptionally polite. Perhaps that could be explained by the injuries he'd sustained? There were spatters of blood on his bandaged forehead and blood on his trousers as well. How the hell had he gotten so far in this state? The man needed an ambulance, not a policeman. Should he call one?  
  
He knew the answer to that before he'd even finished thinking the question. There was only right one thing to do in this situation, and phoning for the ambulance wasn't it. He flipped open his phone and dialed Jack. He'd trail Ianto from a distance until Jack told him what to do.  
  
It wasn't standard procedure, but then, there was no such thing when it came to dealing with Torchwood.


	26. Chapter 26

“Good work, Andy,” Jack said into his phone as he jogged back to parking lot. “Tell Gwen to meet me at the SUV. We'll intercept him on the main road. Have your officers stay back, out of sight. It's a Torchwood matter. We'll handle it.”  
  
“There's something you're not telling me, isn't there? Now there’s a surprise.”  
  
“Let's just say Ianto's not himself. He could be dangerous.”  
  
“Are you sure you don't need any... _shit._ ” Andy said. Jack was fairly sure the curse was meant for Andy's radio, which had just uttered a loud _squawk_ in the background, and not him.  
  
“We'll be fine.”  
  
“All right, but I'll be standing by if you need me.”  
  
Jack rang off, feeling like uttering a few oaths himself. _Ianto's not himself._ That was the understatement of the year. How could he have been so stupid as not to notice earlier? The signs, while subtle, had been there all along.  Ianto's not acknowledging Andy when they'd worked closely together over the last six weeks was just the latest one. Jack had been so happy to have Ianto back he hadn't been paying attention to what his gut had been trying to tell him. Well, he was paying attention now.  
  
Once in the main parking lot, he could clearly see Ianto about 200 meters away, headed north. Gwen joined him, panting from her dash from the Main Office.  
  
“Is that Ianto? Funny, he hasn't worn that coat in ages. I almost didn't recognize him. Where's he off to?” asked Gwen.  
  
“Looks like he's heading towards the shops.  Unless he's suddenly developed a taste for fishing gear or golf clubs, my guess is he plans to call a cab there and return the way he came. Seems he's in bit of a hurry, too. He walked right by Andy without saying a word.”  
  
“And Andy let him go?”  
  
“He thought it was for the best. And so do I. We need to get to him first. Be ready for anything. And I mean anything! Come on!”  
  
Jack took off, his boots sending gravel flying.  
  
\---- ---- ---- ----  
  
Iolo had closed up the storage container, tucked his bag under his arm, and walked away without looking back. Things had gotten messy there at the end, and he despised “messy.” Messy emotions (on Ianto's part), messy blood on his coat and pants. He was relieved to leave it all behind.  
  
It was funny, though--he thought he'd feel more when he finally taken his revenge on Ianto. More what, he wasn't sure—elation, perhaps, or at least the satisfaction that came from a job well-done. Instead he just felt sort of hollow. Dreaming about it had been more fulfilling than actually doing it.  
  
Oh, well. He had new dreams to dream, after all. The sky was the limit—no, that wasn't even true. If Torchwood was really in contact with beings from other planets, the sky wasn't the limit—the sky was just the beginning!  
  
It was regrettable about the passcodes, though. He supposed he'd have to fake some more amnesia and get Jack or Gwen to let him into the Torchwood system. When he was healed up a bit more, he could go round to the bank with Ianto's ID and see about accessing the bank account. He couldn't be the first person who “forgot” their PIN, there must be procedures in place.  Next week would probably do...  
  
Iolo, lost in thought, was almost on top of the policeman before he noticed him. Startled, he yanked his mind back into the present.  
  
A copper, here! And he was waving at Iolo. Almost like he knew something going on. No, it had to be just a coincidence. No one knew Ianto was missing, so they wouldn't be looking for him. And certainly not here. Even if Jack and Gwen had somehow beat him back to the Hub, discovered he was gone, and called the police, they'd be checking all the obvious places first, not the Docks.  
  
Of course, Iolo knew that eventually Ianto's body would be found, and the police would turn up with all sorts of awkward questions, so he had already devised a plan to return in the dead of night and dump it in the sea before that happened. Torchwood had extensive resources for disguising bodies, he'd discovered from Ianto's diaries, which was very convenient as far as Iolo was concerned. But there was no way anyone could have found out about Ianto yet.  
  
Perhaps the officer was here on routine patrol. If so, it would be the first one Iolo had noticed in the weeks he'd been watching the place. Or maybe he just fancied a stroll near the water, who knew?  
  
 _'Just keep going,'_ Iolo told himself, hurrying past him. This time it was harder not to look back, but he managed it.  
  
He felt rush of relief when he made it to the road without being stopped. He was nearly home free. All he had to do was walk a bit, then catch a cab and get back the Hub before the others did. If they had somehow beat him back, well, he had his “disorientated” act all ready to go.  
  
Iolo walked along the side of the road, feeling more chipper. If only the ringing in his ears would subside. The sound the gun had made in the enclosed space of the storage container had literally been deafening.  
  
Which was why he didn't hear Jack coming up behind him until the man was nearly on top of him.


	27. Chapter 27

Ianto, or whatever he was, whirled at his approach, but Jack was faster. He launched himself at the figure wearing Ianto's coat and tackled him, knocking them both to the floor. They landed with the stranger lying on his back and Jack on top, and Jack couldn't help but recall the time he'd tumbled from a Pteranodon and landed in exactly the same position. It had felt so right, then.  
  
Now it felt so wrong.  
  
Jack yanked his Webley out of its holster, cocked it, and pointed against the stranger's forehead.  
  
“Where's Ianto?” he shouted.  
  
The look of pure shock on the stranger's oh-so-familiar features was gratifying, indeed. It quickly vanished though, to be replaced by mild puzzlement.  
  
“Jack, what are you doing? It's me,” the stranger said.  
  
“No, it's not! What are you? A Nostrovite? A Zygon? Something else? Tell me!” Jack pressed the barrel of the gun against the bandage, placing a bit of pressure on the wound he knew was there.  
  
Jack saw a flicker of pain and confusion in those blue-grey eyes that were so similar to Ianto's. But there were subtle differences in the face that were apparent, now that he was looking for them. The curve of the lips was off—the corners of the mouth turned down more than Ianto's. And there were fewer fine lines around the eyes.  
  
“Stop it Jack, you're hurting me. Did something happen to you? You're not yourself!”  
  
“You're the one that's not right here. Now tell me where Ianto is!”  
  
“Jack, you've clearly been working too hard if you think...”  
  
Jack reversed his grip on the gun, drew back his arm, and smashed the handle across the side of the impostor’s face. The impostor cried out and tried to get out from under him, but Jack's weight held him fast. Behind him, he heard Gwen yell something, but he couldn't make out what it was.  
  
“He's here, isn't he? Otherwise you wouldn't risk coming out here. Tell me where he is!”  
  
Gwen skidded to a halt beside Jack and grabbed his arm.  
  
“Jack, what are you doing?” She yelled.  
  
Jack shook her off. “Finding out where Ianto is!”  
  
“But Jack, that's...”  
  
“No it's not!” Jack glowered at the stranger wearing Ianto's face.  
  
“Last chance. Answer me!”  
  
The impostor smiled at Jack, a cold grin made gruesome by the blood streaking his teeth.  
  
“You're too late. He's gone.”  
  
The impostor laughed then, and it was high and mocking, nothing like Ianto's warm chuckle. Revulsion and fury surged in Jack and he knocked him out with the butt of the gun.  
  
“Oh, my God,” Gwen moaned. “Jack, what's going on?”  
  
Jack mobile went off then, the particular set of chimes he'd had Ianto program to indicate it was Andy calling. He switched his gun to his left hand, and then fumbled the phone out of his pocket.  
  
“What!”  
  
“Jack, Kavanaugh is here, says Princess is going mental at the other end of the yard. I wasn't going to call you, since I can see from here you've got Ianto... secured. But Kav insists she's doing that little dance that she does when she finds her target. I told him it had to be a mistake, but then he said that the only mistake around here was the one my mother made when she—er, I mean, that Princess doesn't make mistakes.”  
  
Jack jumped to his feet. “I'm on my way,” he said into the phone. “Gwen, you stay here and cover him. If he wakes up, don't believe anything he tells you. He is not Ianto, whatever he says. If he tries to move, shoot him. Got that?”  
  
Gwen nodded. As Jack dashed off, he felt a pang of guilt for not explaining further. Well, that's what orders were for—times when there was no time for explanations. A shapeshifting Nostrovite had crashed Gwen's wedding and impersonated her mother-in-law and Jack himself (and another had made Gwen pregnant with its bite)--she'd figure it out.  
  
\---- ---- ---- ----  
  
Andy watched Jack hurry away leaving Gwen standing there looking gobsmacked, and for a moment he felt torn. Should he follow Jack, or go to Gwen? His heart longed to do the latter, as he still had feelings for her, even though she was married to Rhys now. Still, she wasn't the sort to welcome coddling. She had proved that she wasn't the type of woman who needed a man at her side to take care of things.  
  
 _'More's the pity'_ , he thought, not for the first time. He would have liked that job.  
  
Andy watched Gwen crouch down beside Ianto and study his face as if she'd never seen it before.  
  
 _'Probably making sure Jack didn't do too much damage,'_ he thought, and then wondered if he'd just witnessed an act of domestic abuse. What else do you call an older man pistol-whipping his younger lover, who was injured and not fighting back too boot? If it had been anyone else, he'd be making a report right now.  
  
Andy stayed his hand, however. Because despite what it looked like, it didn't _feel_ like that. Andy wasn't sure how to explain the feeling, only that it was strong, and he had learned to trust such hunches when they came. A similar feeling had told him the house collapse hadn't been just a fluke, and while they were still investigating that, he was sure he'd be proven right in the end.  
  
If nothing else, however, he knew that Gwen would never stand by while one friend abused another, even if he was her boss. There was that, too.  
  
He should go see what Kavanaugh was up to. He had insisted he'd found something, and Andy should probably be there when Jack got there and discovered it was a false alarm. A Harkness-Kavanaugh dust-up was definitely something to be avoided. He'd never met two more stubborn men in his life, and if they got into it, it wouldn't end until both of them were unconscious or in jail. Andy had no desire to do the paperwork that would require.


	28. Chapter 28

Once he reached the correct row, the container was easy to find. It was the only one with the doors wide open. Jack paused in the threshold, his gun to his side but ready to raise it if need be, and waited for his eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior. He could make out three figures at the far end. Two were human--one was seated against the wall and one was leaning over him--and one was canine. A sharp metallic scent permeated the room.  
  
 _'Blood.'_ That didn't bode well.  
  
Jack strode forward. “Captain Jack Harkness,” he announced. “Andy said you found Ianto?”  
  
The dog and the man kneeling on the ground both turned their heads to look at him; the dog's tongue lolling out in a friendly grin, the man's expression far less welcoming. The man looked Jack up and down and then back at his own hands, which were pressing a piece of cloth against the slumped figure's chest.  
  
“Kavanaugh,” the man said. “And it was Princess what did the finding.”  
  
Jack was standing over them now, close enough to see that the still, slumped figure was indeed...  
  
“Ianto,” Jack breathed. He wasn't sure how he was so certain, given that he'd just spent the last day being duped by an impostor, but he was. He crouched down and reached out to touch Ianto's cheek. It was covered by thick, dark stubble, as was his jaw, and Jack felt a moment of (absurd, given the situation) astonishment. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Ianto so beardy. It gave him a rougher, more masculine appearance that Jack rather liked. But when his fingertip found a swollen, black-and blue bruise forming under the stubble, Jack pulled his hand away and forced himself to continue the rest of his inspection with his gaze alone.  
  
Ianto's lips were torn, bloody and slightly parted, and Jack couldn't tell if any breath passed through them. He was almost afraid to ask.  
  
“Is he...?”  
  
“He's alive. Unconscious but alive. He's been shot. I've already called for an ambulance.”  
  
“Shot!” Well, that explained the blood smell, and the reason for the cloth Kavanaugh was pressing against Ianto's chest.  
  
Kavanaugh nodded. “Just below the shoulder. Point-blank range. I'm keeping pressure on it until the ambulance comes. There's a torch there if you want to see. I'd have left it on, but the battery's going.”  
  
Kavanaugh nodded at the torch next to his feet, and Jack picked it up and turned it on. In the bright glare, Ianto looked even worse. There were dark circles under his eyes, and entirely too much blood on the gauze pads the officer was holding against his chest for his liking.  
  
Jack ran the circle of light down Ianto's body. “His feet are bound!”  
  
“Aye. His hands as well. And someone put tape over his mouth. I took that off so he could breathe better but left the rest. Have to preserve the crime scene and all.”  
  
“To hell with the crime scene! We're getting that off him.”  
  
“I wouldn't recommend it.” Kavanaugh advised, but Jack was already scrabbling at the tape around Ianto's ankles. It didn't tear easily.  
  
“Laddie, if you're bound and determined to do that, at least do it properly. There's a utility knife in my kit.” Kavanaugh nodded at the plastic box beside him.  
  
Jack dug through various first-aid supplies until he found the knife. Then he made short work of the tape around Ianto's ankles, wincing a little as he pulled it free. He knew from experience how much that stung.  
  
It was alarming how cold Ianto's feet were, like he was already dead. Jack resisted the urge to plant himself down and rub some circulation into them.  
  
 _'Soon,'_ he promised himself. _'But first things first.'_  
  
He moved to the other side of Ianto and crouched by the wall. “Now for his hands.”  
  
“I can't stop you, a'course,” Kavanaugh sighed. “But you should know that moving him while that bullet is in him is dangerous. If it slips there's no telling where it could go. And I'm sure it's still in him. It's not in the wall behind him. I checked.”  
  
Jack stared at the red-haired man, who stared right back at him. Finally, he nodded.  
  
“You're right. We shouldn't move him unnecessarily.”  
  
A shadow fell across the entrance to the container, and Jack looked up to see Andy standing there.  
  
“So there was someone in here!” the young officer exclaimed.  
  
“Don’t sound so surprised. I told you so, didn't I?” Kavanaugh said.  
  
Andy moved closer.  
  
“Well, would you look at that,” Andy said. “I didn't know Ianto had a brother. Is he alright?”  
  
“He's been shot,” Jack replied shortly. “And he doesn't have a brother.”  
  
“Course he does! That bloke out there, and this bloke here, what are they if they're not twin brothers, then? They're identical!”  
  
“I'm telling you he doesn't have a...” Jack's voice trailed off and he stared down at Ianto in surprise.  
  
 _'Does he?'_ Jack's mind had been teeming with possible explanations for Ianto's impostor—an alien shape-shifter was only the first of many. He had also been considering a time-traveler, a clone, and a visitor from an alternate dimension, but he'd completely overlooked this most terrestrial of explanations.  
  
Ianto stirred and uttered a low groan.  
  
Jack placed a hand on Ianto's good shoulder. “Shh, Ianto—stay still. OK? It's important that you stay still.”  
  
Ianto's eyelids fluttered, and then opened. “Jack?” he whispered.  
  
Jacks' heart leapt. “It's me. I'm right here.”  
  
Ianto gazed at him through red-rimmed, dazed eyes. “No, you're not. 'S a dream. Just a dream.”  
  
Ianto's eyes closed again, and it felt like Jack's heart crashed to the floor.  
  
“Ianto!” Jack said. “Wake up!” He had to resist the urge to shake the man beneath him. “It's not a dream. Wake up.”  
  
Slowly, Ianto's eyes came open again, and this time when he looked at Jack they seemed a little more focused. “S'not?”  
  
“No. I assure you. I'm real. I found you. It took me awhile, but I found you.”  
  
“Technically it was Princess that found...” Kavanaugh began, but no one was paying attention to him.  
  
Ianto's eyes widened. “Jack!”  
  
Jack hugged him, gingerly and with one arm, pushing down the swell of emotion that was trying to flood his throat and choke him.  
  
“It's OK, Ianto. I'm here. And I'm going to get you out of here just as soon as I can.”  
  
“Jack. I'm sorry.”  
  
“What?” It was such an eerie echo of what he—correction, the impostor—had said when Jack had found him in the street that Jack did a double-take.  
  
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jack said, leaning in so close he was speaking into Ianto's neck.  
  
“I do. Iolo... it's Iolo. You're all in danger!” Ianto made to sit forward and then gasped in pain. Kavanaugh gently pressed him back while Jack made soothing sounds.  
  
“Just relax, Ianto. We're alright. Don't worry. Now what's a yoh-lo?”  
  
“Not a 'what'. A 'who'. He's... my brother.” Pain and misery etched deep lines in Ianto's his forehead and around his mouth, making him look far older than his twenty-six years. “I'm really sorry.”  
  
Jack gazed at Ianto for a long minute.  
  
“I'll fix this. I'll make sure he never hurts you or anyone else again.” He kissed Ianto on the cheek, and Ianto's eyes fell closed. Jack patted Ianto on the shoulder and rose to his feet.  
  
“We've got to warn Gwen,” he said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “She needs to know that that man is armed and dangerous, but that she shouldn't kill him if she doesn't have to. Dammit, she's not answering!”  
  
“I could try,” Andy started, but was interrupted when sharp _"crack"_ sounded outside. It could have been a car backfire or a firecracker, but all four men in the storage container had experience with firearms, and recognized it for what it was. Well, three of them recognized it. Ianto's eyes remained closed and he didn't seem to have heard.  
  
“That was a gunshot!” Andy cried.  
  
Jack was already headed for the door. “Gwen!”  
  
At the door he looked back. “Keep an eye on him,” he admonished Kavanaugh.  
  
Kavanaugh snorted. “I don't need you to tell me that. I was doing it 'afore you turned up, and I'll keep doing it until help arrives.”  
  
Jack blinked. He was so accustomed to giving orders that he sometimes forgot there were people that didn't have to take them.  
  
“Right. Thanks.” He hoped that a brisk nod would convey his appreciation. He didn't have time for anything else. He turned and started running.  
  
Jack had thought the trip to find Ianto's storage container had been harrowing. The trip back to the parking lot was worse. The corridors formed by the hulking containers seemed to stretch on forever, growing longer just when he thought he was nearing the end. It was like trying to escape a monster in a nightmare, or a particularly nasty hell dimension he'd had occasion to visit once. That had been nothing but endless hallways.  
  
Finally he reached the parking lot. He could see past it to the main road where an ambulance stood with its lights flashing. The driver of the ambulance was talking to a figure wearing a green jacket and black jeans, who was in turn pointing to a man in a black coat lying on the ground.  
  
Gwen. Gwen was talking to the ambulance driver. Gwen was all right. Thank the heavens. He'd never forgive himself if that impostor— _Iolo,_ Ianto had called him—had injured her too.  
  
“So he just came at me, I didn't know he had a gun in his pocket,” Gwen was explaining when Jack and Andy drew near, while two paramedics tended to the man on the ground.  
  
“Oh, Jack!” Gwen exclaimed when she caught sight of them. “It all happened so fast...”  
  
“It's all right, Gwen,” Jack said. “You did what you had to do. Is he dead?”  
  
If he was, how the hell was he going to explain to Ianto that Gwen had killed the brother they didn't know he had? And that it was all Jack's fault for not warning her sooner?  
  
“No, he's not. At least I don't think so.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“The ambulance arrived and I glanced away to wave them over. When I looked back he was sitting up pointing a gun at me. I started acting like I thought he was Ianto. I said I knew he wasn’t feeling well and that I'd help him get back to the Hub and we'd sort it all out. He finally agreed, but his eyes, Jack! His eyes.” She sniffled.  
  
“I know. I've seen them.”  
  
“Anyway, I helped him stand up, then pretended to lose my balance and pushed him forward. Then I shot him, like you told me to, in the leg. He went down, and the EMT came over and dosed him with sedative. That seemed to do it. Jack, what is he?”  
  
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”  
  
“Oh my God! In all the excitement I never asked. Did you find Ianto?”  
  
“I did and he's going to be fine. He needs medical attention though, because this bastard shot him. Andy, would you please direct the ambulance to where Ianto is? We need to get him stabilized and to A&E as soon as possible. And have them pick up this fellow on the way out.”  
  
Jack looked down to find that Gwen was staring at him. “A&E? Are you sure?”  
  
“Best place to treat gunshot wounds, wouldn't you say?”  
  
“But...” Her voice dropped to a stage whisper. “The alien? And Ianto?!?”  
  
“That's no alien, Gwen. A nasty piece of work, but multiple sources assure me that he's human.  Andy can assign a detail to make sure that he doesn't escape the hospital until we figure out what to do with him. As for Ianto, he really deserves better than being treated by you and me on an autopsy table, don't you think?”  
  
Gwen stared at him for a moment longer, and then smiled. “Yes. Yes, I think he does.”  
  
“Come on, then. We'll follow the ambulance in the SUV.  I want to be there when Ianto wakes up.”


	29. Chapter 29

**_Epilogue_ **

  
_Three Days Later_

Ianto had forgotten how much he despised being in the hospital. He knew he wasn't alone in this feeling, but that didn't help much. It wasn't even the pain he minded—that was currently being alleviated by an IV drip he had reluctantly consented to--as much as the million little indignities that came with being a patient. Between the gown that didn't reach his knees, the silly socks they gave him to wear, being poked and prodded like some sort of lab rat at all hours of the day and night, he felt more ridiculous by the hour.

And then there was the boredom. He'd never been the sort to be content lazing about. He preferred to be doing things—preferably several of them at once. Having nothing to do made him anxious. And he really didn't like how sluggish the medicine made him feel. It was as if he were moving underwater. Thank goodness he was going home tomorrow.

Ianto rang for another cup of ice water. The tall, white Styrofoam cups delivered to his bedside were one of hospital's few redeeming features, he decided. After the first twenty-four hours, they'd let him have as much as he wanted. One of the friendlier nurses, Meghan, had taken to bringing him a cup whenever she stopped in, just because, she said, he enjoyed getting them so much.

But when the door opened, it wasn't Meghan or any of the others. It was Jack.

“Hi,” Jack said, his broad shoulders and big coat filling the doorway.

Ianto smiled. “Hi, yourself.”

Jack shoved his hands into his pockets, as if he wasn't sure how to proceed, and Ianto realized something he he'd never noticed before. Jack disliked hospitals too.

“I thought you'd be Meghan with my water.”

“Sorry. I could get her if you want.” Jack looked over his shoulder, as if he was about to turn around.

“I'm kidding! Come in.”

Jack did, and perched on the edge of the room's one chair.  An awkward silence fell.

“So. This Meghan. She cute?” Jack finally essayed. It sounded a bit forced to Ianto's ears, but he had to give Jack points for trying.

“She's blonde, buxom, and said my smile makes her whole day.”

“Good for you! You should strike while the iron's hot. Request a sponge-bath.”

“Jack, she's 60, at least.”

“So?” Jack inquired, arching an eyebrow. “A woman with experience. That's a good thing.”

“Jack!” Ianto could feel the color rise in his cheeks and looked away.  He'd started it, but he should have realized that drugged as he was, he was no match for Jack, even an awkward Jack.

“Maybe later.” Jack said. “Look, I wanted to let you know, I talked to Iolo. He told me everything. Or as much as I could stand to hear without throttling him.”

Ianto swallowed.

Jack reached out and took Ianto's hand. Ianto glanced down in surprise. Jack wasn't much for hand-holding in public. Technically speaking, he supposed, this room wasn't “public”, though given the never-ending parade of aides, nurses, techs and doctors, it felt like it.

“Ianto, this wasn't your fault.”

Ianto stared at their entwined hands so he wouldn't have to look at Jack. How the hell did Jack know what he'd been thinking? That was Jack all over, though. Most of the time he seemed oblivious to other people's feelings. But just when you’d concluded that he was completely clueless, he would come up with a keen and penetrating insight that made you wonder if he saw more than he pretended to.

“I know,” Ianto managed.

“You might know it up here, but do you know it in here?” Jack indicated Ianto's head, then his heavily bandaged chest.

“Yeah. No. I don't know. Jack, why are you asking me that?”

“Because you've been through enough torture at Iolo's hands. I don't want to see you adding to it.”

Ianto bit his lip, then immediately wished he hadn't. His lips, like the rest of him, were healing, but still sensitive. That had hurt.

“You couldn't have saved him, you know. He's a psychopath. The experts are just beginning to understand what that means in this time period, but their theory that the violence starts early with animals and then escalates to human beings is correct. If you hadn't intervened he probably would have gone on to kill somebody. Maybe a whole lot of somebodies. You did the right thing by telling someone.”

“He doesn't believe that.”

“And he never will. What's important is that you believe it.”

Ianto managed a shrug. “I guess. It makes sense when you put it like that. Look at what he did when he escaped. He could have gone anywhere, done anything he wanted.”

“Exactly my point! All he could think about was getting revenge on everyone that had ever wronged him, starting with you. Can you imagine somebody like that with Torchwood's resources? He could have gone on a killing spree to end all killing sprees, and used our resources to hide the evidence.”

Ianto shuddered. That was a little too close to what Suzie Costello had done. It wasn't hard to imagine at all.

“Thank goodness you stopped him.”

“I will always stop anyone that tries to hurt you,” Jack vowed. He sounded so sincere that it made Ianto's throat close and his eyes well up. He turned his face to the wall. Jack added his other hand to the knot their hands made and squeezed.

“Ianto, why didn't you tell me you had a brother? Or about your family? I had no idea you had relatives that used to live in Cardiff.”

“Why didn't you?” It sounded childish to Ianto even as he said it, but talking about Iolo was bad enough. He really didn't want to talk about why he had never talked about him before.

“That's different.”

“Is it? Why?” Great, now he sounded petulant too.

“Because Gray was a long, long time ago.  Well, technically, far in the future, but a long time ago for me. I thought he was lost forever.”

“Iolo was a long time ago too, relatively speaking. No pun intended. And it isn't exactly something one drops into ordinary conversation, is it? I can't see, 'I locked up the alien de-aging device, how do you want your coffee and oh by the way, I have a psychopathic twin brother who lives in Providence Park' going over too well, do you?”

“But we were _there!_ At Providence Park, when we were investigating the Night Travellers! Why didn't you say something then?”

“I wanted to, Jack. It took everything I had not to.”  Ianto's voice wavered as the conflicting emotions he'd felt that day came flooding back. “But that's not why we were there. It wasn't about me or my problems. We were there to save lives. That would have just distracted us.”

God, he'd been a wreck that whole investigation. Visiting the Electro, the scene of the very few happy times he'd spent with his tad, had been bittersweet. His life-long passion for classic cinema had been born at the Electro, however, so the visit had been more sweet than bitter. But then their investigation had taken them to Providence Park, and Ianto had started to fall apart inside. He'd poured all his energy into tracking down the Ghost Maker and saving those trapped souls in order to keep himself together, and it had barely been worth it. They'd only managed to save one. He had spiraled into a dark place after that. If the Team, and Jack, hadn't needed him, he might never have left it.

“Your problems are important to me, Ianto. You should have said something. I could have helped.”

Ianto shook his head. “There's nothing you could have done. You're right, he's incurable. I followed his progress updates for years, until it just got too depressing. Nothing the doctors did made any difference. They never gave up hope, but he never showed any real change. Every time they thought he was improving, he'd attack someone who was trying to help him or attempt to escape, and they'd be right back where they started.”

Ianto looked over to find Jack gazing at him sadly. “That's not what I meant. I meant I could have helped _you_.”

“Oh.”

“That's the Ianto we know and love, always thinking of others first. But now that you mention it, maybe there is something we could do for him. There's no cure now, but by the 51st century they'd worked out something...” Jack's voice trailed off thoughtfully.

Ianto felt a sudden surge of bitterness. After all Iolo had put him through, Jack was trying to _help_ him? And then what would he do once he was fixed, hire him to work alongside Ianto?

“And that's the Jack we know and love, always trying to play the hero. You should have shot him in the head when you had the chance. _Sir_.”

Jack startled, and from the way he was staring at him, Ianto wondered if he might not have some of that glint he'd noticed in Iolo's eyes after all.

“You don't mean that.”

“I do. It would make things a lot easier,” Ianto said.

Then he sighed. “No, I don't. Not really. I'm furious at him for what he did to me but I don't want that. But come on, Jack. Even if we have something from the future, we can't use it on him, can we? Don’t think I haven't thought about it. I have. It's pretty much all I've thought about the last couple of days. But despite what you might believe, I really did learn my lesson about trying to use Torchwood resources to save someone unsavable the last time around.”

Jack winced, and Ianto felt a twinge of guilt. Still, Jack had wanted to have this conversation. Might as well get it all out there.

“Ianto, that's not the same thing,” Jack protested. “He's mentally ill, not being controlled by an alien cyber-mind.”

“It would be using resources from the future to solve twenty-first century problems, which you've forbidden, remember? Timelines and paradoxes and all that.”

Jack removed one of his hands and scrubbed it through his hair. “Maybe you're right,” he admitted.

“I know I am. Jack, you mean well, and I appreciate it. But isn't it possible that you're trying so hard to save my brother because you couldn't save yours?”

Jack looked at him like Ianto had just had a surprising insight, himself.

“Maybe I am, at that. So what do we do? Andy's offered to have him arrested after they patch him up.”

“The press would have a field day with that.’Escaped mental patient kidnaps twin brother?' Can you imagine if it ever went to trial? The publicity would be nightmare.”

“I'd put up with up with it if that's what you wanted.”

Ianto realized what a gift  the secretive-to-a-fault Jack was offering, and felt his anger subside. That Jack was asking him, rather than telling him, what they should do with Iolo was a gift in itself, in fact.

“No, Jack. Thank you, but no. I don't want that kind of publicity either. In all likelihood he'd wind up right back in Providence Park anyway. If anyone can plead the the Insanity Defense it's him. We might as well just Retcon him and send him back ourselves.”

“That's not very satisfying.”

Ianto nodded. “I agree. I just don't see what else we can do. We can't kill him in cold blood. But he can’t be cured by twenty-first century means either. If I didn't believe that before he broke out, I do now.”

Ianto's eyes strayed to the middle distance and he touched his chest. “He shot me here, on the right side, not the left, to make sure I wouldn't die too fast. Did he tell you that? I saw his eyes when he did it, Jack. They were like--like ice. He always had that side of him, but there used to be something else there too. Something warmer. I don't think it's there anymore.”

Jack squeezed his hand. “I know the feeling. Maybe if he's so cold we should freeze him, like we did Gray.”

“We could. But that would mean a lot of Retcon and altered documents to erase him from the minds of everyone who's seen him in the last few days. It hardly seems worth it. And besides, Gray didn't belong in this world. We had no other place to put him. Iolo does.”

“So we send him back,” Jack concluded.  There was a pause where they both contemplated this. “They'll increase security on him, but he'll probably never stop plotting to get revenge on you, you know. His resentment goes back decades. Unless we Retcon him all the way to infancy, I can't guarantee that will stop.”

Ianto shuddered. “Don't do that. We'll just have to be prepared on the off-change he manages to escape again.”

“We'll be ready. And Andy will be ready too. I've explained the situation to him. He's to report directly to me if he ever sees “you” acting strangely. Well, stranger than usual, I mean.”

A smile flickered across Ianto's lips. “Good plan. Although it occurs to me that Andy knows quite a bit about us now. Are you OK with that?”

Jack shrugged. “Not really. But we've been taking on too much ourselves, lately. Maybe it's time I—we—shared the load a little.”

“He's a good man, Jack. I think that's the right call.”

“He's a good-looking man, too,” Jack said with a grin. “I have his home phone number, you know,” he tapped the pocket where his phone resided with a sly smile. Ianto smiled back, wider this time.

“I knew it. You're throwing me over already. I'm out of commission less than a week and you're already sniffing around somewhere else.”

“Who said anything about throwing you over? You're invited.”

“If I had a free hand, I'd be hitting you with a pillow right now.”

“What? I can share. In fact, you can be the star of the show. You'll barely even know I'm there.”

“Jack! Stop it. You're winding up a wounded man. If these stitches come open Meghan is going to give you hell.”

“Hey, at least I didn't make any jokes about 'doubling my pleasure' with the Jones twins. You have to give me something, here.”

Ianto cringed inwardly at the thought such a threesome, but Jack was trying, in the best way he knew, to show Ianto that everything was going to be all right, and Ianto appreciated it. Jack had already assured him that Iolo's claims about kissing had been exaggerated, and had looked so genuinely appalled by the idea that he could have unknowingly gone further with the impostor that Ianto had believed him.

So Ianto played along, and rolled his eyes in the exaggerated manner Jack adored.

“I appreciate your restraint. I know how much you love twins. Acrobats, weren't they?”

“I told you that story?”

“Repeatedly.”

“Whoops?”

“Jack, could you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

“Could you see where Meghan is with that water? I can't seem to get enough of it these days.

Jack rose. “Of course. And when we get back the Hub I'll install the best water fountain money can buy, just for you.”

“You’re the one that’s always wanted a water fountain. I'd never be able to get near it,”  Ianto laughed. Then he winced.

“What's wrong?”

“Hurts,” he said, indicating his shoulder. “The painkiller is starting to wear off.”

“Well, I'm not surprised. The bullet nearly went all the way through. I'll have them bring more drugs too, shall I?”

Ianto hesitated, and then said, “Why not? One more dose, just enough to get me through the night. But I'm swearing it off tomorrow. I hate the way it makes me feel.”

“I know,” Jack said, gazing at Ianto fondly. “You're tough.”

“I'm not. I just know how to fake it.” Ianto sought out a more comfortable position on his pillows, one that didn't aggravate his shoulder as much. “I bet somewhere Owen is loving this. I can just hear him saying, 'Karma is fucking bitch, in'nt, Yan-toe?'”

“Maybe he is,” Jack grinned.

Ianto grinned back. “There's one more thing.”

“Yes?”

Ianto freed his hand from Jack's, and then reached out, slid his hand inside Jack's coat, and grabbed one of Jack's bracers. Jack's eyebrows went skyward but he allowed himself to be tugged toward Ianto until their faces were centimeters apart. Ianto cocked his head to the side as if to say, "well?"

“I don't want to hurt you,” Jack murmured.

“You won't unless you bite,” Ianto said.

“I'll try to restrain myself.”

Jack closed the distance between them, allowing his lips to brush Ianto's. The touch was feather-light, just enough to send a delicious shiver down Ianto's spine, and then Jack made to move away.

Ianto grasped the back of his head and pulled him in for a proper kiss, complete with tongue.

When Ianto finally released him, Jack looked surprised, breathless, and pleased as punch.

“Mam-gu Bethan always said, "Kiss like you mean it," Ianto explained.

Jack nodded. “A wise woman. You take after her.”

“I'd like to think so.”

“Oh, you do, Mr. Jones. You do. Now let's get you that water.”

Ianto watch Jack leave the room, admiring the way the greatcoat swirled around his legs even though there was no wind to blow it. The poor coat was looking quite battered. He'd have to see to the repairs as soon as he got out of here.

Ianto started making a mental list of things to do when he got out, and realized how much he was looking forward to going back to the Hub. Going back home.

 

_\--fin--_

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [The Torchwood Classic Big Bang](http://tw-classic-bb.livejournal.com/)  
> Completed April 7, 2013

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Light Duty](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088697) by [tardisjournal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisjournal/pseuds/tardisjournal)




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